Running Late

I’m sitting at my kitchen table staring at my phone intensely. It sits there, doing absolutely nothing. It doesn’t vibrate. The screen doesn’t light up. Nothing. I texted that son of a bitch three minutes ago and he hasn’t said a god damn thing. The movie is starting in forty-five minutes. It takes me ten minutes to get to his house and twenty minutes to get from there to the theatre. If I leave immediately we should be able to make it there with fifteen minutes to spare. But this idiot won’t confirm whether or not he can even make it so I just have to sit here and wait. Wasting time.

So do you think you can make it?

I sent that message five minutes ago now. Two minutes have passed that I could have spent driving to pick him up. Or driving to the theatre. Should I just ditch him and go on my own? Or should I be a decent friend and wait for his confirmation? Is being a good friend more important that seeing the first two minutes of a movie? What kind of question is that, of course it is. He’s got three more minutes before I just-

Yeah, I should be good to go. You picking me up?

FINALLY. I stand up and run out to the car while I text him back.

Yup. On my way.

I slam my car door shut, throw my seatbelt on, start my car and gun it as fast as I can to his house. I might be risking a speeding ticket but fuck it. This is a movie about super heroes fighting each other. I am not missing it because my friend takes eons to decide what he’s doing with his time.

I arrive at his house a few minutes later. The movie starts in thirty minutes. We can still make it with ten minutes to spare but to my dismay he still isn’t outside of his house. The lights are still on. He had ten minutes to get ready, what the hell is he doing? I sit for what must be the longest thirty seconds of my live. I’ve been here for half of a god damned minute and he’s still not ready.

Dude, are you ready?

Yeah, almost. I just had to shower.

Are you fucking KIDDING ME? He had to shower? He had ten minutes to get ready and he just showered now. For Christ sake. I sit and wait. I twiddle my thumbs. My heart races for nearly five minutes until he finally walks outside. He gets into my car and sits down.

“Sorry I took so long,” he says. I feel a rage in my heart swell up. I feel like I’m about to explode at this asshole. Sorry you took so long? You’re not sorry. You don’t even begin to care you asshole.

“No worries,” I say, “We have plenty of time.” I pin the gas petal down and screech down the street. There’s no way I’m going to be late for this movie.


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