My friend wrote me an email yesterday thanking me for bringing the Chicago weather back with me to New York. I informed him that he's lucky; it's even worse in Chicago. Chicago get so much colder than New York. Evidently this is due to the fact that Chicago is right off of Lake Michigan, but the logic doesn’t make sense seeing as how we’re right on a body of water too. Nevertheless, it's ridiculous there.
On Friday night, I arrived at O’Hare at 9:55—seven minutes early. I called Dave while sitting on the runway to find out how close he was. I could hear music blaring in the background; people yelling, having a grand ol’ time.
“Babe, where the hell are you?”
“Are you here already?!”
I hung up on him because A). I was pissed, and B). I couldn’t hear him.
Forty minutes and a phone call to Bobby, who I knew would feed into my anger, later, Dave showed up to pick me up.
I tried to play it cool, but I couldn’t. I was seething. A similar incident happened to me in the past with another guy. I arrived at O’Hare from San Diego, only to find that he had scheduled a car to pick me up (strike one), while he was drunk (strike two) but put in the wrong time, due to his drunkenness, so the car never came (strike three!). I broke up with that guy that weekend. So drunk you couldn’t pick me up on time? I see where this is going. To this day, the other guy is still pissed at me.
Dave was similarly drunk when he came to get me and claimed that he thought my flight arrived at 10:30. We went back and forth about how he had read to me earlier from his computer that my flight was to come in at 10:02. (Of course, when we got to his house, my flight schedule was still up on his computer--10:02 haunting him like guilt). I then decided to hit him where it hurts.
“You think I’m going to pack my stuff up and move here for a guy who can’t even get to the airport on time? No way.”
“What, so you’re not going to move here now? You have to let me know.”
“You’re out of your mind, asshole.”
“So, you’re just wasting my time?”
“Interesting choice of words,” I said, basking in my cleverness.
After calling him a few choice words and him calling me a spoiled j.a.p., we made up and went to dinner (oh, but he wasn’t hungry because he already ate). The rest of the weekend, I blamed everything (my tiredness, my minor bad mood, etc.) on the 40 minutes I lost at the airport. In fact, we are still on a 40-minute delay.
I start PMS’ing this week. I don’t see this dying down until at least the 13th.