Lamenting over my latte- I sat on a stool in Starbucks facing busy 8th avenue on a Friday night with my partner in crime, Connor Paolo (Star of TV's Gossip Girl).
"Give it another 2 minutes,” he stated, “After that it’s all down hill."
You see, I was impatiently waiting for a text message response from a girl, which for the sake of this blog we will refer to as... Desdemona. Des and I had pseudo plans for later that evening, and her E.T.T. or Estimated Texting Time was 10 minutes. E.T.T.’s can be calculated by looking at past text messaging conversations and averaging the minutes in-between the person receiving and answering your message. Typically, the longer the time in between the messages the less interest the person has in talking to you. Desdemona had just over 60 seconds to respond before she exceeded her E.T.T. and poor Paul needed to start looking for a Plan-B girl for the night.
I hid my phone under my wool hat, as if that would somehow ease the pain. The perpetual anticipation was more painful than being forced to Water World and The Postman back to back.
“Maybe she hasn’t looked at her phone yet,” said Connor checking his own phone. “I know my Alice throws her phone in her bag and won’t check it for hours sometimes.”
Attention to all "Alice’s and Desdemona’s": Not keeping your cell phone on your person negates the reason to have a mobile phone in the first place!
“But Connor, unfortunately, due to the machinations of modern technology, the little green check mark in the corner clearly indicates that my text message to her was opened.”
And personally, I think that is awful. I mean, in theory, that would be the same thing as calling someone who doesn’t pick up, and your cell phone tells you, “Sorry but, Blah Blah has acknowledged the fact that you have you called, but decided to ignore it regardless.” A big telephonic fuck you!
“What if this was an emergency and she hadn’t checked her phone,” said I? “The house is on fire! Mr. Whiskers ran away! Grandma caught syphilis! Then what? How is someone supposed to get in touch with this girl?”
I swiped my phone from off the coffee bar and checked my inbox as if my cell phone was playing evil tricks on me- not alerting to me a new text. But alas, no new messages.
“Hey Connor, do you remember a long, long time ago in galaxy far, far away when the only means of telephonically connecting with someone was this age old system of picking up a oblong shaped receiver, dialing seven digits and believe it or not, actually speaking with the other person? Do you remember that?”
“Vaguely,” Connor replied.
“Why am I being such a pussy? I should just call Por…. Desdemona,” I exclaimed!
“But you’ve done the text Paul. You can’t do the text and then the call. That’s just pathetic, man. It’s one or the other! Never both. You’ve chosen your poison, now live with it. ”
I sipped my now cold coffee whiling flipping back to my message to her.
"Was I not clear enough? Did I come on too strong? I kept it simple and funny- “Is there gas in your tank?” She knows we were supposed to see each other tonight and we have an inside joke about how her car is always empty on gas. So clever! It’s not like she has to think too hard! I'm very funny! I don’t need some bitch that doesn’t appreciate my sardonic wit. You know what, I’m done trying! Fuck her if she doesn’t want to answer my text message! I don’t need this shit, especially from some chick with a Shakespearian name! Fuck… Oh! One new message!"
“Stranded w/out my car at sum party in drty jerzy but maybe…”
What does maybe mean?
What does dot, dot, dot mean?
How long should I wait to answer?
Oh cruel text messaging God!
- Paul Icon
