On Being and Time

So, this morning, a new slut hit me up on one of the dating sites. She told me her name, said she was a nurse who was having a hard time meeting folks in our town due to shift-work. She seemed eager, and told me that she was down to fuck, and her photos looked presentable. In keeping with protocol, I balked at inviting her to my house without a public meeting. She invited me to a place I knew, on my side of town, and offered to pay for my coffee, which was a nice touch.

What I had planned for the day was a whole lot of maxing and relaxing. I did want to go get some cheapo Christmas gift-type junk. Could I squeeze in a nooner as I was going about my business?

Yes, I thought, I could.

She made the date for noon, so I did my usual thing and arrived at 11:30. As I walked into the joint I found it had changed, somewhat, since my last visit. Only a few weeks ago, the dive featured tattered menus and servers in cargo shorts. (I live in a semi-tropical area of the world, and this isn’t unusual.) I arrived to find three new female waitresses, in uniforms, looking surprisingly hot.

I ordered my usual, and ate. It was getting close to noon with no sign of the bitch, so I got out my phone. I found the text-message indicator flashing.

Bitch at 11:57: R u there? Running a little late. 5 min. I hope

Me at 11:59: I am here already. Yes.

At 12:05, I realized that the bitch was five minutes late. I stopped at the register to chat up my waitress. She had a wedding ring, but we made small talk for a bit, and I wandered on out the door at 12:09. I leisurely got into my car, and started the drive to the shopping mall, to get my niece some fuzzy pink slippers, and my father a book, and my skank-ho cousin’s kids some manly stuff. I’ve forgotten about the slut at this point, and am on the interstate, when my phone starts going absolutely nuts.

Bitch at 12:12: I’m here but don’t see you

Incoming call at 12:13

Incoming call at 12:14

Incoming call at 12:14

Incoming call at 12:15

As I’m driving, I am hitting the “refuse call” button repeatedly. I have voice mail, but the bitch doesn’t care enough to use it. She just keeps calling. After eleven incoming call attempts, she gives up — or so I think. After I park and get out of the car, I find my text message indicator starts flashing again.

Bitch at 12:27: Why did u leave?

My M.O. is to ignore such people, as my time is valuable, and they’ve already been disrespectful. Even so, I thought I could illustrate the attitude of entitlement which is universal among skanky American wimminz on this blog. So, against years of experience, and all my better judgment, I answered the slut, grabbed a screenshot of the exchange, and then deleted her number.

I actually didn’t pull out of the parking lot until 12:10. I lied to her for two reasons:

1. To see if the bitch would behave as I predicted.
2. To let the slut know that my time is valuable, and give her the impression that I left immediately after the (already delayed) time agreed upon.

So, did the slut pretend to be a normal person, and apologize for her rudeness?

Of course she didn’t. She lied too, claiming that she was there while I was still in the restaurant. Bear in mind that there is only one door in or out of this place, and I could see every table as I left, three minutes after she supposedly “got there.”

What can the young brothers learn from this? Plenty. In the first place, from my field guide to running hoez:

42. If the bitch is two minutes late, go ahead and scoot out the door. Your time is valuable. Five minutes early is on time. One minute late is barely acceptable. Two is not.

I should never have agreed to meeting her five minutes later than arranged. What I should have done is to delete her number when she said she was running late.

By agreeing to delay the meeting, I did two things:

1. I signaled my desperation.
2. I trained the bitch to see my time as less valuable than hers.

The typical wimminz will not see you as a nice fella if you’re agreeable to her whims. The typical wimminz will see you as a chump for doing this, and will get the message that it is cool to waste your time.

Had I waited around until she showed up, I would likely have waited around while the bitch ate. I may have got some uninspired sex, after which I would have waited around at least an hour until the bitch quit jabbering mindlessly and left. By the time I’d gone out shopping, it easily would have been 4 PM.

Because I did not wait around until she showed up, my niece is getting a fuzzy pink bathrobe-slippers combination for Christmas. My father is getting an antiqued bible for his end table. My cousin’s kids are getting handheld Nintendo Switch video game machines.

I’d say everything turned out exactly as well as it should have.

You have a finite number of moments available before your death. Spend them on the people who matter, rather than wasting them on ingrates.