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  • dearabi

Make it Rain Man.

Over the weekend, me and some friends went to Off the Grid on McCopin St. I got a sandwich from Eat Curbside, but walked over to the Kasa Indian truck to get a drink. I ordered an iced chai, but a tall glass of water is what I was greeted with. The man that poked his head out the window was GORGEOUS. Hazel eyes, caramel-ish complexion, and the best part of all – a warm, friendly, personality. Thank God I had sunglasses on, otherwise he probably would’ve been able to see the horror on my face due to my crippling awkwardness.

Me and the folks set up shop under the tent directly in front of his truck, and proceeded to grub. Every so often, I’d sneak a glance in his direction and a few times he actually stepped outside the truck. He had a very hipster-sih, bike messenger look complete with rolled up jeans that were too tight for my taste, but I could’ve definitely overlooked it. What I wasn’t sure I couldn’t overlook however, was the fact that he worked at a food truck.

As soon as I realized I was thinking this I felt like an asshole. I am not a shallow person, nor am I materialistic. Even if I wanted to be, I’d have no right to be. However, I agree that one should be the person they want to be with. And now more than ever do I know who I am, where I want to be, and what I want in life.

Now for all I know this food truck gig could be one of many. For all I know, it pays better than my last job. Shit, maybe he owned the damn truck! Or maybe serving chicken tiki masala burritos was just a cover up for his six figure bank accounts in the Cayman Islands. My point isn’t that I would never date someone who works for a food truck (if he had asked, I would’ve wrote my number down on a napkin for him complete with a smiley face). It’s not about the job, it’s about the goals and what they are doing to reach them. This was just a surface example of an instance that triggered a deeper realization. That being I’m finally at a point in my life where how much money a man makes is actually important to me.

They don’t need to spend their money on me, and they definitely don’t need to be rich. I rather they pay me attention, and spend time with me instead. While I’m sure it would be nice, I don’t need a man to financially take care of me – I need a man to be able to take care of himself. To know that I won’t have to worry about him making rent, or losing his car. To know that if he had a medical emergency, it would make a dent in his wallet, but not a wreck of it. To know that eating at 5A5 one night wouldn’t be out of the question, and if I wanted to go to the Bahamas he could come with me.

I am nowhere near being “wealthy.” Hell, I was most recently living unemployment check to unemployment check. But I pay my bills, and live a certain lifestyle. One that I would like to eventually share with someone I love.

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