I confess

I hate that person. You know the one. The one that doesn’t realize the light has turned green because she is having an important conversation on her cell phone. The one who knows you are waiting to get into a medical chart but instead of handing it to you, gets up and walks away, leaving you to wonder “Is she coming back in just a sec, or can I read the chart without looking like a jackass?” What I hate more than that person, though, is being that person.

Tonight I was that person from Craigslist who totally flakes on you. I hate that person! The one who sends you like dozen emails about a ten dollar lamp, to the point where you are like “Forget it! I am putting it on the corner. If you want it, it will be there for free because dealing with you is so not worth $10.” Or the person who promises they will come to check out your place and never comes, never calls… I have never actually been stood up on a real date but the number of potential Craigslist roomates who have bailed on me outweighs the number of those who have actually shown up.

Last night I found what could possibly have been the cutest little table and chairs set on Craigslist. I called the number immediately and made plans to come check out said set tonight at 7:30. But by this evening, I was just not in the mood anymore. Having been really good about working from home, I accomplished what I had set out to accomplish by lunchtime. So at lunch I went for a little run. By the time I returned, showered, changed, made lunch, ate lunch, and got in another solid 30 minutes of work, it was time to leave for my 3:15 massage. And when that was done, I was so happy and relaxed, continuing to work just did not suit my mood. So I headed to the 29th Street Mall to finally spend the Sephora gift card that had been burning a hole in my pocket since my last birthday. While I was there I had to just check out the Mac Store, Anthropologie, and Lululemon, where I tried on a few things, liked one, and bought none. When I got home and started dinner, an old friend called. We have been playing phone tag for literally a month so I had to chat. And then it was time for my Craigslist appointment and I just didn’t want to go anymore. The work I had ignored all afternoon was calling my name, loudly.

But I couldn’t bear to be that person. So I stopped at the ATM just in case I really liked the furniture as the ad specifically stated “cash only.” If I was going to be a good CL user, I was going to do it right.

But then, en route to the CL appointment, I got a call from someone who shall remain anonymous. My blog is not where I call people out for being difficult, passive-aggressive, or acting like my volunteer position is a tryout for The Apprentice. As soon as I hit “send” everything went to hell in a handbasket. While we were talking, the seller of the possibly very cute table and chairs set beeped in. She was going to be ten minutes late. No worries, I couldn’t quite find her house anyway. She clarified the directions. I beeped back to my previous conversation in which I was informed all the things I had messed up (sorry) and did I want to change this part, (no) and what about this minute detail (use your discretion) and so what should the document say (exactly what I wrote, that’s why I wrote it that way) and lets change a bunch of stuff you worked really hard on so we can save money (How much money? Don’t know) and also while we are on the topic, what if we did this? (I don’t think its necessary), Right but don’t you think we should (um I thought I already said no. So do whatever the hell you want, why are we having this conversation. And stop micromanaging me!! Ok I didn’t say that last part but I thought it really hard).

I extricate myself from the phone call and feel like slitting my wrists. Then I continue to drive around looking for this address. Seller of table and chairs calls me again to help redirect me. She thinks she sees my car. It cannot be my car, I am not driving down her road. She says she is on my left. I get out and walk around, peering closely at all the addresses on the left. Hers is not there. I call her again. I am supposed to be in the cul-de-sac. She is on the left of the cul-de-sac. Cul-de-sac, duh. I go to the cul-de-sac. I can’t even read the house numbers its so dark. I still kind of want to slit my wrists. I can’t deal with this. I would so much rather spend my money on the 19″ flat panel TV I saw at Target than these tables and chairs. (I currently don’t have any TV period). I am sick of driving around a poorly lit cul-de-sac now, feeling angry and annoyed, and have no interest in the table and chairs with the cute toile fabric. I am so done with this, to the point where my done-ness officially dominates my wish to not be that person when the CL seller calls me for like the millionth time. I tell her I am sorry, I cannot find her place and due to the fact that the whole thing ran late in the first place, I have to go home now and I am really sorry. (In my mind this fib works because my non-existent children need me to come home and bathe them and put them to bed). And she says “Whatever” with all the venom of someone who has just been screwed by another Craigslist no-show flake. Which is me. I suck.

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