Cadbury's Flake

Last week, I texted my friend Frank about meeting for a coffee. I hadn’t seen him for a while and thought it would be nice to meet up.

He texted me back almost immediately with “Hi how are you? Yes, coffee next week – maybe Tuesday - would be great.”

Next week arrives and I still hadn’t heard anything from Frank, who may I add is a friend not a potential anything-more man. So I text again: “Hey, are we still on for coffee this week?”

No response.

Hmmm. He does have my CD which I’d quite like back. Do I harass him further? Will he think I’m a stalker if I insist on a coffee/CD return date? Do I immediately and cold-heartedly dismiss him as the friend who got away?

The answer, as I have realised after three years of living here in Los Angeles, is just to give up, and have a coffee by yourself, because at least you have a guarantee of your own company.

Because Frank, like many people living in Los Angeles, is a ‘flake.’

These people are the types who tell you we really must do lunch. That they will of course ‘drop by’ to your birthday party, see that movie with you or call you back in ’45 minutes.’

They never do.

Of course, the next time I see Frank, he will be perfectly charming, look like he is genuinely pleased to see me and tell me that we really must meet up soon.

Flakes in Los Angeles are under the illusion that they are your very good ‘friend,’ that they really do want to see you, but are just ‘too busy’ to get in touch with you.

Because these days, we 21^st century ladies and gentlemen have such limited options of communication - text, e-mail, Facebook, Twitter, instant message, or even that old fashioned phone call, that we cannot possibly take time out of our busy schedule to drop someone that two word reply.

It’s more common than unusual to invite people out somewhere and receive no response. Party invites go unreplied to, so you never know who, if anyone, is coming.

My friend Heather and her then boyfriend once invited their friend Christian round to a party at their house. He had vaguely said he would come, which means in Angeleno speak, if he could be bothered, or was not invited to a party at someone’s house who once had bit part on The Hills. 

As 11pm came, Heather texted him to see where he was, No response.

Frustrated, as many women get by a lack of a reply, she called him.

“Oh sorry,” he said. “I had you on delay. I’m at another party.”

Loosely translated, he was waiting to see if he got a better invite before responding to Heather.

Apparently he did, and was even prepared to admit it.

So can living in L.A. turn you into one of these crumblies?

A Canadian friend of mine told me in hushed tones that she believed she

had become a ‘bit of a flake’ during her Los Angeles years. 

“Why?” I asked.

“Well, because everyone else is,” she replied, adding that she no longer expected replies from people. Hopefully, they would turn up anyway.

When I first arrived in L.A., a European couple in my apartment building decided to throw a ‘Get to know your neighbours party’ in the courtyard. TC, a businessman, made a great effort to get everyone’s e-mails and even put flyers in the elevator to let everyone know about the event.

Out of 52 apartments in the complex, he received three replies. One was from me. One, I believe was from the building’s manager.

In the event, there was a good turnout. It was a Sunday night after all, and maybe those happening parties in the Hills were perhaps a little bit rubbish.