Pretty sure that text was equal parts engaging and informative… very, “let’s hang out!” without sounding desperate or overbearing. I should put my phone away now. Amanda looks like she’s been waiting to say something. I wish she wouldn’t look at me like that. Just going to put my phone on vibrate… I’ll put it right in my coat pocket. I’m going to keep my hand in that same pocket – I mean it’s kind of cold anyway, right? No big deal. What is Amanda talking about? I missed the first three minutes of this conversation. I can’t believe it’s been three minutes. How time consuming is it to answer a text? Whatever.
Maybe I didn’t feel it vibrate. This coat has abnormally large pockets. I’m just going to take the phone out for two seconds to see if it’s blinking. Really quickly. I don’t want Amanda to think I’m not listening to her… I totally am. Oh my god, it’s blinking! YES! Oh… oh. It’s an email. Nevermind. Ugh, I have no idea what Amanda’s talking about. I’m going to tell her I need to read this “work” email so that I can stare at my phone while she tells her story. Just for a minute, then I’ll put it away. Watched cell phones don’t vibrate… I should probably just put my phone away, huh? It’s not like I’m going to will a text message into existence. Back in my pocket you go, phone! This is your last chance… … …nothing? Well OK, then.
All right, Amanda. Are you done hearing the sound of your own voice? Getting a little tired of being your Yes Man. When did you get so self-obsessed? Not a good look for you. Getting laid off is rough and all, but dwelling on it is real Debbie Downer territory. Is it my turn yet? I’d really like to just go over all of the possible scenarios that have been running through my mind since I sent that text message. OK, first of all – his phone might be dead. That’s number one – happens to me all the time. He could be working… some people have unpredictable work schedules. God… he’s so interesting. I feel like I know nothing about this mysterious, too-cool-to-answer-text-messages person. I’m never going to hear back from him, am I? I fucked this up… somehow. I don’t know how, but this is definitely my fault.
Amanda agrees that I don’t know enough to suppose why he’s not answering my text message. Maybe he lost his phone. He did mention he was going to a party three days ago… maybe things got wild. Maybe he didn’t save my number and is frantically texting his friends saying, “Do you know who this number belongs to? Got a really sweet text from that number and I feel like an idiot because I don’t know who it is. Let me know.” I’ve done that so many times! That could be what happened. Or maybe he’s taking a nap. Or he went for a run. The possibilities are limitless, when you – oh shit. Oh shit. It’s vibrating. Is it a text? Could be a Facebook notification or a phone call. It’s a text! It’s… it’s fucking Gina. Why the hell are you texting me, Gina? Can’t you just call me, like a normal person? Asshole. Deceptive, texting asshole. I’m ignoring you. You’re dead to me.
So I’m not getting a response. OK then. I can’t believe this shit… oh wait, yes I can! Way to be predictable. Obviously, you have better things to do than respond to a concise, friendly text message. Grace someone with the blessing of your SMS correspondence? Perish the thought! You’re just so above effective communication! The fuck do you have an iPhone for, anyway? You certainly don’t use it to text people. Do you use it to update your Tumblr? Is your Tumblr composed of screenshots you took of the many unanswered texts you’ve collected? Is it called, “Too busy to answer you, but not too busy to blog about it! LOL!”? You would. You’re probably passing your phone around to your douche friends right this minute. “Hey, check out this moronic girl who thought I was worth giving the time of day to! What an idiot!” Wow. Wow. I thought this time would be different. There isn’t one fucking person in New York City who needs six hours to respond to a text. Unless… shit. You’re not dead or something, are you? Cripes. Way to make me feel like an asshole. Please don’t be dying in the hospital right now. I know you mentioned having diabetes or allergies or something… where’d Amanda go?
What the hell is everyone looking at? Do I have a horn growing out of my forehead? Am I fucking unicorn? Can’t a girl go to the bar alone and drink 8-13 beers without everyone giving her grief? I’m like… 86 per cent sure that I’m not going to remember any of this tomorrow. Want to pity me from across the bar? No problem. Not going to remember you tomorrow. Pity away. Speaking of assholes… I should delete his number. And my sent messages. I should do it now. Tomorrow, it’ll be like none of this ever happened. This is the perfect window of time to delete phone numbers. He’s getting the ax. So is Gina. Done! Done. Bye, bye! Nice NOT knowing you! Thanks for playing, don’t come again!
Ew. What happened last night? WHERE THE HELL AM I. Christ on a stick. Where are my pants. And where is my phone. I need answers.
Perfect. A text from Amanda. “You were disgusting last night, went to Gina’s birthday par-” FUCK. Gina’s birthday party. I need to text her. Whose goddamn apartment is this? My phone is about to die, I wonder if they have a BlackBerry charger. And where is Gina’s phone number? Why is it not in my phone? It has to be in here, somewhere. Wait… wait. Rogue text from an unsaved number alert! My favorite! “Left my phone in a cab… just got it back… would love to hang, though.” Who the… god, I hate when this happens. Here we go again. “So sorry, just got a new phone and lost all of my numbers. Who is this?”