I am on my way to your house. We haven’t seen each other in a few days —we’ve both been busy. I’m happy that I will get to spend time with you. And yes, obviously quite excited about the prospect of spending the night with you. All of this explains the smile on my face.
I’m in a cab, not wanting to waste precious minutes in another form of transport. When seeing you is involved, there is no time to waste. Suddenly eight minutes difference is abysmal and well worth the extra money I am paying.
I’m nervous, literally twiddling my thumbs. After all this time, I still get nervous when I see you. I’ve never been like this. I have never changed outfits for a date once I have put something on. I have never even thought about what to wear more than the two seconds it takes to get the things out of the wardrobe.
This is utterly ridiculous but I can’t help it. When I am on my way to you this is how I feel. Once we are together all of that goes away. No nervousness, no doubts.
But that’s not the case yet. I am still in the cab, still twiddling my thumbs, still second guessing my outfit, still wondering if you will like me, still thinking I am not good enough.
I am 24 minutes away. It’s not a long drive and it would take much less if I drove myself (17 minutes, to be exact), but parking in your area is a nightmare so I have to accept the seven minute difference. It’s still eight minutes less than public transportation.
I ask the driver if he can be fast —I am in a rush, I say. At this hour? A rush? I can see the disbelief in his face. But he only answers that he will try.
He doesn’t. Not only does he not try to go faster (I can understand, breaking the law isn’t fun for some people) but he actually is the slowest driver I have ever had in my life.
OK. This might be an exaggeration. But he is definitely in the top 5 list of worse drivers I’ve had. And mind you, only dipshits that accelerate and decelerate instead of maintaining their speed get on the list.
This makes me more nervous. I text you that I am on my way but with an inept driver. There is no response (knowing you, you are in the shower). I text “I cannot wait to see you.” next.
This is by far the silliest text ever. OK, this may be another exaggeration but it is pretty silly. I am now only 15 minutes away from seeing you, I don’t have to “wait” long. Still, it’s the feeling. I cannot wait to see you. Even if the amount of minutes is small in this instance, I always cannot wait to see you.
I ask the driver to turn off the music. His shit taste isn’t helping my nerves. I was happy when these private driver apps appeared, you could indicate your preferences in conversation, opening doors, temperature and music. But these options are no longer available and now I have to say ‘pretty please will you turn the music off?’ and this only pisses me off further.
I keep checking the tracker and the time it estimates it will take until my destination. I check also my watch constantly. Neither things help with the nervousness that has completely taken over and obliterated the happiness and excitement I was feeling earlier. Just a few more minutes.
But a few more minutes feel like an infinity and non concrete amount of time. Suddenly six minutes is a barrier that I cannot go over. A mountain impossible to take on. Something I have no control over, no matter how much I look at the clock or the predicted route. Suddenly time feels very relative. Now, it’s extremely slow like this driver and when I am with you, time, as they say, flies.
Another red light. Christ, am I getting all the red lights tonight? I look at the bright colour, a colour I love but only feel anger towards right at this moment. Plus, bright lights at night always give me headaches. I exhale quite heavily, trying to calm myself down, trying to put the anger away. You don’t like it when I am grumpy.
Last turn. Finally. Already I am taking off my seatbelt, already I am taking my backpack off the floor. The driver looks at me as if to say ‘you could really wait one minute until I have stopped’ but he doesn’t understand I can’t. I cannot wait.
I nearly jump out of the cab even before he has come to a complete halt and this gets me another look but I am already saying thank you and have a good night, ignoring his judgement.
I press the buzzer and tap my foot. Nearly there. I breathe. Usually I take the stairs but I have lost so much time with the driver that I consider that extra minute too much again. The lift seems like a better option to win this race against time I have seemed to enter.
The doors open and I avoid looking at my reflection as always. I press the top floor button. This is such a slow lift. No exaggeration this time. It’s objectively and quantifiably a slow lift.
The doors open again and I get out. Your door is open and you are already waiting for me.
I see your smile and immediately feel my body relaxing.
What was I nervous about?