On Cancelled Plans

There is nothing sweeter than a cancelled plan. As an introvert, I feel this truth deeply. But when one cancelled plan becomes two, then three, as happened to me last weekend, the net effect is less sweet and more what the fuck?

I’d just soldiered through a relentlessly social week. We’d traveled by air, reluctantly sharing personal space with strangers, and visited friends before attending a family wedding. Two days after I got home, I worked in a small room with other teachers evaluating student writing. Saturday night, we went to a party.

Since a typical day finds me alone talking to Charlie the dog with the radio streaming in the background, I woke Sunday with a massive social hangover, which is why it felt great when the morning’s scheduled meetup was scrapped because my friend wasn’t feeling well. The cancellation text arrived early and my first thought was whew. I still had a tutoring session over Zoom at 1:00 and a date for tea at 3:00, but with one hurdle down, I’d be better able to handle two and three.

1:00. I got on Zoom and waited for seven minutes. I sent a hey, are you there? text. At 1:15 I checked the Zoom link for mistakes and found none.  At 1:22 I sent another text apologizing for any confusion; that I’d meant Eastern Standard Time. I finally left Zoom at 1:30, and an hour later, got a text that explained everything. She forgot.

Then, I had to meet my friend for tea. I took me a while to find my wallet and car keys, and I was panicking because I was already running late because I’m always running late.

No sooner had I jumped into the car when my phone buzzed. My friend had a migraine. Tea was cancelled.  

Instead of relief, I felt frustration, which, as an introvert, made no sense. Then, I thought about it.

The first plan was cancelled far in advance, so I had several hours to enjoy the prospect of a less busy day. The second plan was not a cancellation but a no-show, so my dread and wasted time were for naught. The third plan was cancelled at the last minute, so not only was I robbed of enjoying the prospect of a free afternoon, I began to question the health of my relationships and likeability.  

I reached the conclusion that stuff comes up. Usually not three times in a single day, but when you factor in fate and human unreliability, it’s hardly surprising and nothing personal.  At least, this is what I told Charlie, before asking Alexa to play NPR.