Anchor ads are not supported on this page.

4S Ranch Allied Gardens Alpine Baja Balboa Park Bankers Hill Barrio Logan Bay Ho Bay Park Black Mountain Ranch Blossom Valley Bonita Bonsall Borrego Springs Boulevard Campo Cardiff-by-the-Sea Carlsbad Carmel Mountain Carmel Valley Chollas View Chula Vista City College City Heights Clairemont College Area Coronado CSU San Marcos Cuyamaca College Del Cerro Del Mar Descanso Downtown San Diego Eastlake East Village El Cajon Emerald Hills Encanto Encinitas Escondido Fallbrook Fletcher Hills Golden Hill Grant Hill Grantville Grossmont College Guatay Harbor Island Hillcrest Imperial Beach Imperial Valley Jacumba Jamacha-Lomita Jamul Julian Kearny Mesa Kensington La Jolla Lakeside La Mesa Lemon Grove Leucadia Liberty Station Lincoln Acres Lincoln Park Linda Vista Little Italy Logan Heights Mesa College Midway District MiraCosta College Miramar Miramar College Mira Mesa Mission Beach Mission Hills Mission Valley Mountain View Mount Hope Mount Laguna National City Nestor Normal Heights North Park Oak Park Ocean Beach Oceanside Old Town Otay Mesa Pacific Beach Pala Palomar College Palomar Mountain Paradise Hills Pauma Valley Pine Valley Point Loma Point Loma Nazarene Potrero Poway Rainbow Ramona Rancho Bernardo Rancho Penasquitos Rancho San Diego Rancho Santa Fe Rolando San Carlos San Marcos San Onofre Santa Ysabel Santee San Ysidro Scripps Ranch SDSU Serra Mesa Shelltown Shelter Island Sherman Heights Skyline Solana Beach Sorrento Valley Southcrest South Park Southwestern College Spring Valley Stockton Talmadge Temecula Tierrasanta Tijuana UCSD University City University Heights USD Valencia Park Valley Center Vista Warner Springs

Flakes Turn to Dust

When I pulled up at Mike’s studio and his car was nowhere in sight, my gut clenched with comprehension. I knew even as I was texting “Where are you?” that Mike was a no-show. My suspicion that he was south of the border was confirmed when I tried calling him and I heard the telltale beeps of a phone that had left the country.

“I can’t fucking believe this,” I said to David. “He said today worked best for him. I confirmed the time by text just like he asked me to, and he responded that it was perfect — he used that word! It would be one thing if we were just meeting up for coffee and he flaked, but this is different. There are other people involved. This took coordination and effort, not to mention everyone’s time.”

“There’re the guys,” David said.

“Can you go explain to them what’s going on? I’ll be there in a second. I just need to calm down.” David went to greet the rest of the team. We were all there to film Mike at work in his studio for a portion of a local television show I’m producing.

I stared at my phone in defeat. Mike wasn’t a flaky person, in general, but it’s not like this was the first time he’d missed a meeting, either. There had been a few occasions, some for work but mostly social, when I had to remind him I was waiting for him. That’s the bit that burned — I should have known better.

Sponsored
Sponsored

I don’t like to rely on people. I have difficulty dealing with disappointment. I blame my parents for that, for always coming through for me when I needed them; that sort of behavior doesn’t prepare a person for the real world.

There was a chance Mike was dead in a ditch somewhere, or in the hospital, or held hostage by a drug cartel. Those would have been the only excusable reasons for not giving me a heads up that he wasn’t planning to make it. Even a text or email at 3 a.m., from whatever party he’d obviously been at, would have given me enough time to make other arrangements.

After taking some deep breaths, I emerged from my car to discuss plan B with the guys. Fortunately, they were easygoing and waited patiently as I furiously tapped on my phone, searching for an 11th-hour savior. I bought everyone lunch (my guilt for having scheduled a dud), after which we caravanned to the studio of a wonderful artist who was willing to accommodate us on a half hour’s notice. We filmed what turned out to be a better shoot than the one I had envisioned with Mike, but despite my delight in how well things unfolded, I was still seething at my friend for leaving me hanging.

As evening approached, I began to wonder if something terrible had indeed happened to Mike. Perhaps he pissed in public and got arrested? Maybe he messed with the wrong prostitute? For the first time, my anger gave way to worry. Surely, if he had just been partying all night, he’d wake up at some point in the day to call or text with some half-assed apology. To hear nothing meant something could be seriously wrong.

The following morning, nearly 21 hours after our scheduled meeting, I stared, almost bored, at the image of Mike’s face on my phone as it rang. I didn’t answer. I already knew that whatever story he’d hatched was bullshit.

Five years ago, he could have told me anything and I’d have had no evidence to the contrary. As a friend, I’d have no choice but to believe him. But now, social media makes it impossible for anyone but the super stealthy to keep a secret, and Mike had made a glaring mistake in what otherwise seemed to be an attempt to remain radio silent. Seven hours after our scheduled meeting, he had “liked” a video on Facebook. That’s when I knew he was alive and well, and, most importantly, that he had access to the internet.

I couldn’t bring myself to listen to the message. “I don’t even want to hear his voice,” I said as I handed David my phone. “Could you just give me the gist?”

As David listened to the message, his eyes rolled. He set my phone on the table between us and summarized: “He says he lost his wallet and phone, that it turned out to be in a friend’s car, and he didn’t get it back until this morning, so he was stuck in TJ.”

“What do you think?” I asked.

“If you lost your phone and you had an appointment, what would you have done?”

“I’d have found a way to contact him,” I said. “I’d borrow a friend’s phone, and if I couldn’t remember his number, I’d ask one of a hundred mutual friends; and if no one had it, I’d email or Facebook. It’s not like he was beyond civilization. He’s always online when he’s in TJ.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking,” David said. “I’m pretty sure that if he knew he had to get ahold of us because we had a million dollars for him, he would have found a way.”

“I’m so tired of being disappointed,” I said, dropping my shoulders. Mike’s no-show had capped a week of friends and colleagues falling through on their commitments. I keep expecting others to do what they say they will; each time someone lets me down, my faith in people is further ground under heel. I fear one day I’ll have nothing left but a handful of jaded dust. “Are my expectations really that high? Are they too high?”

“No,” David said emphatically. “You ask someone, ‘Can you do this thing?’ They say ‘yes,’ and then they don’t do that thing. That is absolutely not expecting too much. But I’m with you, this shit’s really getting old.”

Here's something you might be interested in.
Submit a free classified
or view all
Previous article

San Diego Reader 2024 Music & Arts Issue

Favorite fakers: Baby Bushka, Fleetwood Max, Electric Waste Band, Oceans, Geezer – plus upcoming tribute schedule
Next Article

San Diego Reader 2024 Music & Arts Issue

Favorite fakers: Baby Bushka, Fleetwood Max, Electric Waste Band, Oceans, Geezer – plus upcoming tribute schedule

When I pulled up at Mike’s studio and his car was nowhere in sight, my gut clenched with comprehension. I knew even as I was texting “Where are you?” that Mike was a no-show. My suspicion that he was south of the border was confirmed when I tried calling him and I heard the telltale beeps of a phone that had left the country.

“I can’t fucking believe this,” I said to David. “He said today worked best for him. I confirmed the time by text just like he asked me to, and he responded that it was perfect — he used that word! It would be one thing if we were just meeting up for coffee and he flaked, but this is different. There are other people involved. This took coordination and effort, not to mention everyone’s time.”

“There’re the guys,” David said.

“Can you go explain to them what’s going on? I’ll be there in a second. I just need to calm down.” David went to greet the rest of the team. We were all there to film Mike at work in his studio for a portion of a local television show I’m producing.

I stared at my phone in defeat. Mike wasn’t a flaky person, in general, but it’s not like this was the first time he’d missed a meeting, either. There had been a few occasions, some for work but mostly social, when I had to remind him I was waiting for him. That’s the bit that burned — I should have known better.

Sponsored
Sponsored

I don’t like to rely on people. I have difficulty dealing with disappointment. I blame my parents for that, for always coming through for me when I needed them; that sort of behavior doesn’t prepare a person for the real world.

There was a chance Mike was dead in a ditch somewhere, or in the hospital, or held hostage by a drug cartel. Those would have been the only excusable reasons for not giving me a heads up that he wasn’t planning to make it. Even a text or email at 3 a.m., from whatever party he’d obviously been at, would have given me enough time to make other arrangements.

After taking some deep breaths, I emerged from my car to discuss plan B with the guys. Fortunately, they were easygoing and waited patiently as I furiously tapped on my phone, searching for an 11th-hour savior. I bought everyone lunch (my guilt for having scheduled a dud), after which we caravanned to the studio of a wonderful artist who was willing to accommodate us on a half hour’s notice. We filmed what turned out to be a better shoot than the one I had envisioned with Mike, but despite my delight in how well things unfolded, I was still seething at my friend for leaving me hanging.

As evening approached, I began to wonder if something terrible had indeed happened to Mike. Perhaps he pissed in public and got arrested? Maybe he messed with the wrong prostitute? For the first time, my anger gave way to worry. Surely, if he had just been partying all night, he’d wake up at some point in the day to call or text with some half-assed apology. To hear nothing meant something could be seriously wrong.

The following morning, nearly 21 hours after our scheduled meeting, I stared, almost bored, at the image of Mike’s face on my phone as it rang. I didn’t answer. I already knew that whatever story he’d hatched was bullshit.

Five years ago, he could have told me anything and I’d have had no evidence to the contrary. As a friend, I’d have no choice but to believe him. But now, social media makes it impossible for anyone but the super stealthy to keep a secret, and Mike had made a glaring mistake in what otherwise seemed to be an attempt to remain radio silent. Seven hours after our scheduled meeting, he had “liked” a video on Facebook. That’s when I knew he was alive and well, and, most importantly, that he had access to the internet.

I couldn’t bring myself to listen to the message. “I don’t even want to hear his voice,” I said as I handed David my phone. “Could you just give me the gist?”

As David listened to the message, his eyes rolled. He set my phone on the table between us and summarized: “He says he lost his wallet and phone, that it turned out to be in a friend’s car, and he didn’t get it back until this morning, so he was stuck in TJ.”

“What do you think?” I asked.

“If you lost your phone and you had an appointment, what would you have done?”

“I’d have found a way to contact him,” I said. “I’d borrow a friend’s phone, and if I couldn’t remember his number, I’d ask one of a hundred mutual friends; and if no one had it, I’d email or Facebook. It’s not like he was beyond civilization. He’s always online when he’s in TJ.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking,” David said. “I’m pretty sure that if he knew he had to get ahold of us because we had a million dollars for him, he would have found a way.”

“I’m so tired of being disappointed,” I said, dropping my shoulders. Mike’s no-show had capped a week of friends and colleagues falling through on their commitments. I keep expecting others to do what they say they will; each time someone lets me down, my faith in people is further ground under heel. I fear one day I’ll have nothing left but a handful of jaded dust. “Are my expectations really that high? Are they too high?”

“No,” David said emphatically. “You ask someone, ‘Can you do this thing?’ They say ‘yes,’ and then they don’t do that thing. That is absolutely not expecting too much. But I’m with you, this shit’s really getting old.”

Comments
Sponsored
Here's something you might be interested in.
Submit a free classified
or view all
Previous article

Melissa Etheridge, The Imaginary Amazon

Events April 1-April 3, 2024
Next Article

Making Love to Goats, Rachmaninoff, and Elgar

Comments
Ask a Hipster — Advice you didn't know you needed Big Screen — Movie commentary Blurt — Music's inside track Booze News — San Diego spirits Classical Music — Immortal beauty Classifieds — Free and easy Cover Stories — Front-page features Drinks All Around — Bartenders' drink recipes Excerpts — Literary and spiritual excerpts Feast! — Food & drink reviews Feature Stories — Local news & stories Fishing Report — What’s getting hooked from ship and shore From the Archives — Spotlight on the past Golden Dreams — Talk of the town The Gonzo Report — Making the musical scene, or at least reporting from it Letters — Our inbox Movies@Home — Local movie buffs share favorites Movie Reviews — Our critics' picks and pans Musician Interviews — Up close with local artists Neighborhood News from Stringers — Hyperlocal news News Ticker — News & politics Obermeyer — San Diego politics illustrated Outdoors — Weekly changes in flora and fauna Overheard in San Diego — Eavesdropping illustrated Poetry — The old and the new Reader Travel — Travel section built by travelers Reading — The hunt for intellectuals Roam-O-Rama — SoCal's best hiking/biking trails San Diego Beer — Inside San Diego suds SD on the QT — Almost factual news Sheep and Goats — Places of worship Special Issues — The best of Street Style — San Diego streets have style Surf Diego — Real stories from those braving the waves Theater — On stage in San Diego this week Tin Fork — Silver spoon alternative Under the Radar — Matt Potter's undercover work Unforgettable — Long-ago San Diego Unreal Estate — San Diego's priciest pads Your Week — Daily event picks
4S Ranch Allied Gardens Alpine Baja Balboa Park Bankers Hill Barrio Logan Bay Ho Bay Park Black Mountain Ranch Blossom Valley Bonita Bonsall Borrego Springs Boulevard Campo Cardiff-by-the-Sea Carlsbad Carmel Mountain Carmel Valley Chollas View Chula Vista City College City Heights Clairemont College Area Coronado CSU San Marcos Cuyamaca College Del Cerro Del Mar Descanso Downtown San Diego Eastlake East Village El Cajon Emerald Hills Encanto Encinitas Escondido Fallbrook Fletcher Hills Golden Hill Grant Hill Grantville Grossmont College Guatay Harbor Island Hillcrest Imperial Beach Imperial Valley Jacumba Jamacha-Lomita Jamul Julian Kearny Mesa Kensington La Jolla Lakeside La Mesa Lemon Grove Leucadia Liberty Station Lincoln Acres Lincoln Park Linda Vista Little Italy Logan Heights Mesa College Midway District MiraCosta College Miramar Miramar College Mira Mesa Mission Beach Mission Hills Mission Valley Mountain View Mount Hope Mount Laguna National City Nestor Normal Heights North Park Oak Park Ocean Beach Oceanside Old Town Otay Mesa Pacific Beach Pala Palomar College Palomar Mountain Paradise Hills Pauma Valley Pine Valley Point Loma Point Loma Nazarene Potrero Poway Rainbow Ramona Rancho Bernardo Rancho Penasquitos Rancho San Diego Rancho Santa Fe Rolando San Carlos San Marcos San Onofre Santa Ysabel Santee San Ysidro Scripps Ranch SDSU Serra Mesa Shelltown Shelter Island Sherman Heights Skyline Solana Beach Sorrento Valley Southcrest South Park Southwestern College Spring Valley Stockton Talmadge Temecula Tierrasanta Tijuana UCSD University City University Heights USD Valencia Park Valley Center Vista Warner Springs
Close

Anchor ads are not supported on this page.