[ Okay, but consider this: in Californian stoner time, Jeff's actually early. Five more minutes, and he'd be just in time. Twenty more, and then he'd be late.
And anyway, he tried to make it to the restaurant earlier, but parking was a nightmare!
...
Okay, fine, it wasn't. Actually, he was able to find a parking spot pretty easily. It's more that the thought of dinner and a show with Mr. Waltz, the terrifying father of his most terrifying student, is, you know. Terrifying. Honestly, he should've politely declined the tickets, but Mr. Waltz was trying to apologize for insulting his competence and professionalism, and damn it, Jeff's just got too agreeable a nature. Awkward as this all is, they'll probably just pass the evening talking about Cameron's daughter and other work stuff.
Plus, it's Hamilton, and there's not a chance in hell he'd ever be able to get tickets to that on his own.
But anyway, back to the terror: he needed to take a few moments to listen to some music and decompress. Chill. Maybe take a hit-- just one!-- because he's responsible enough not to do that before getting behind the wheel of his car.
And it's a damn good thing he did take such measures to keep his nerves at bay, because if he were totally 100% sober right now, that level (JUDGMENTAL) stare and blunt observation of his tardiness would immediately turn his spine to jelly. ]
Hi-- sorry, uh. [ He jerks a thumb back at the entrance, as if to gesture at the great wide world beyond the restaurant. ] Parking. You know? [ Articulate. A look of worry begins to cross his face. ] We didn't lose our table or anything, did we? If we did, I know a place, just... a ways...
[ Okay, so his spine's not jelly, but it's not exactly made of steel, either. ]
no subject
And anyway, he tried to make it to the restaurant earlier, but parking was a nightmare!
...
Okay, fine, it wasn't. Actually, he was able to find a parking spot pretty easily. It's more that the thought of dinner and a show with Mr. Waltz, the terrifying father of his most terrifying student, is, you know. Terrifying. Honestly, he should've politely declined the tickets, but Mr. Waltz was trying to apologize for insulting his competence and professionalism, and damn it, Jeff's just got too agreeable a nature. Awkward as this all is, they'll probably just pass the evening talking about Cameron's daughter and other work stuff.
Plus, it's Hamilton, and there's not a chance in hell he'd ever be able to get tickets to that on his own.
But anyway, back to the terror: he needed to take a few moments to listen to some music and decompress. Chill. Maybe take a hit-- just one!-- because he's responsible enough not to do that before getting behind the wheel of his car.
And it's a damn good thing he did take such measures to keep his nerves at bay, because if he were totally 100% sober right now, that level (JUDGMENTAL) stare and blunt observation of his tardiness would immediately turn his spine to jelly. ]
Hi-- sorry, uh. [ He jerks a thumb back at the entrance, as if to gesture at the great wide world beyond the restaurant. ] Parking. You know?
[ Articulate. A look of worry begins to cross his face. ] We didn't lose our table or anything, did we? If we did, I know a place, just... a ways...
[ Okay, so his spine's not jelly, but it's not exactly made of steel, either. ]