I woke up again at 3 in the afternoon; this time to my phone's ringing. It was daddy. I picked up.
"We still on for dinner tonight?" I asked him.
"sure thing, babe" he replied with that nonchalant tone of his- almost as emotionally distant as my actual dad- and hung up.
I almost forgot his name on account of the rarity of its use- Gabriel. And in true Freudian fashion, I call him "daddy" to appease my parental issues and in turn, it strokes his ego. Gabriel and I might just be the most accurate mirror of the stereotypes for millennial relationships- casual, physical, loveless. We have been together for years now but, oh, he is not my boyfriend.
I got up, took a shower, put on socially acceptable clothes and went on to the first task of the day- finding where to get my damned parcel. I don't have a car, so I took a cab. It took me about 20 minutes before I got to sit my ass down on a cab's car seat. I told the driver the location and he drove.
The drive took 10 minutes. I got off the taxi to what looks like an old strip mall. I looked inside for the courier service's office, nothing. I figured I could look around the location, nothing. I walked around for the next three miles, nothing. As I do this I think to myself, does this place actually exist?
I walked once more, this time for about 40 minutes, to the post office to check if my parcel arrived there. Why did I walk? I am a broke researcher with a lot of time to spare- or so I thought. It was 4:58 pm when I started walking.
I gave up. I called the seller, nothing. I messaged her, asking about the alleged office and how looking for it felt like looking for El Dorado.
I headed home. I need to work on my paper. It was 6 pm. Gabriel and I have a dinner reservation at 8 and I have to prepare at 7. I got home at 6:46. What did I accomplish in 14 minutes? Nothing.
Gabriel picked me up at 7:30. I wore that one dress he liked (a red silk dress that barely had any layers on it), topped it off with a blazer and put some ballet flats on. He wore a white dress shirt, a blue blazer, brown chinos and loafers. We looked like a proper couple. I wonder why we even bothered to do these fancy things and dress up when we both know our clothes are just going to end up in his condo's floor.
