2006-12-05
Santa's Little Sarah
I had my company Christmas party this weekend. It was a doozy. Besides being positively adorable, if I do say so myself, I totally told this one chick, who happens to be from Springfield, off.
She deserved it.
Also, I almost made it home in one piece.
This year, the drinking was heavy and late. There was casino action and I played some poker. I was rocking a little too hard at the poker table though, and feeling bad for the people whose money I was winning. Plus, it was difficult to hook up with cocktails as there were not servers to bring them to me.
After gambling, I moved on to dancing and more drinking, and even some smoking! Did I mention the drinking?
And the Tell-Off?
This chick called me a bitch! I didn't let it slide.
"You're a bitch!"
And I go, "You don't even KNOW me."
And she goes, "I know you're A BITCH. You never make eye contact in the hallway!"
"And I'm all, do you KNOW what I do all day? Did you ever think that maybe I don't make eye contact because I'm WORKING? On very important THINGS???"
And she goes, "I told my mom there's this girl here from Springfield and she's totally a bitch? And my MOM totally asked me if you went to SHG."
And I went, "Thank God I went to SHG because I didn't turn out like you, Public School LOSER!"
And then I totally started laughing and this other chick who is NOT from Springfield gave us cigarette because it was that kind of night, yo.
True story.
A second true story is that as I was getting ready to leave, a Big VIP at my company and his wife are leaving, too. "Come on! Time to go! Sarah? Are you leaving? Let's go! We're leaving!" And I was really really really drunk by now but by no means alone in my state (ref. Tell-Off where random person from hometown calls Sarah a bitch).
Seriously.
Many nameless people outdrank me handily.
At any rate, I heard my name and I followed.
And then I said, "Wait! I going to..."
"MIDTOWN! Let's go!"
We all pile into a Town Car and right about the second I sit down, I start freaking the freak out. I live in what many middle class white people would refer to as their worst nightmare.
I do NOT want them to see where I live. They are super-cool people, I mean really, honestly great. They have a lot of fun in life, they've worked hard and are successful and they are exceedingly genuine. There is NO WAY I am looking forward to ponying up about living at No. 8 Shitty Avenue, right at the intersection of Biker Bar and Stirp Club.
So it's a looooooooong ride home. Pleasantly filled with slurred conversation but a very long ride, nevertheless.
As we are getting closer, I'm getting sweatier.
I dig into my orange Chanel bag (a generous gift from a kind benefactor)and am digging around for my keys.
Which
Are
Not
IN
MY
BAG.
At this point, I think it's totally possible that my personalities finally splintered for real and only sort of remained in the same vicinity of each other because of Vodka's mysterious glue-like properties. I mean, I felt a shattering sensation and a sixth sense of survival kick in so obviously, you know...
I've realized that my neighbors have a key, so if I can just get to their door, it's cool.
We pull up.
If I can just get out of the car.
I do so, quickly.
Then there was a wrench thrown:
"_____________!!!!! YOU WILL WALK HER TO HER DOOR."
"NOOOOOOOOOOO! It's totally cool!!! I'm going right here! See - that door! My neighbors! I'm going... there!"
It's too late.
I'm out of the car but I'm not alone.
I've managed to bolt, in high heels and uphill in gravel, to the porch of my neighbors and POUND on their door.
It was like an nail-biter scene in a movie where you're pretty sure the heroine might get away but you're not like, POSITIVE.
Well, a scene in an ironic and surreal movie, anyway, since it's all backwards that I just got out of a fucking Town Car and was running so as NOT to be safely walked to my door or my neighbors' door.
But my door meant no keys, big trouble.
Their door meant the risk of a VIP, one who I totally respect, being engulfed in their Saturday night cloud of ganja smoke. This is WORK, dude, tipsy or not.
I do not eff around with illegal and am not a stoner and do NOT want to be associated with it being near my home, especially by work.
Hello?
I'm a lot of things but stupid ain't one of 'em.
In an unlikely spot of luck, the Stoners open up in the nick of time and VIP hasn't made it all the way up the driveway yet.
I turn and give a quick wave and a heart-felt, "Goodnight! Thank you!"
Relief!
I'm in the door.
Turns out that my neighbor had been on her own little trip into Vodka Village.
We played dj for a bit and then I realized it was 2 am and I had no keys.
She gave me my house key and spun me out the back door. Remarkably, I make it into my apartment without falling, get the dog to her special bathroom spot, wash my face, and get myself into bed.
Needless to say, I had to eventually wake up on Sunday.
That wasn't cool.
Tucson was freezing cold and NOBODY had my keys. I called everyone. The limo company, the hotel, the girl who gave me a ride to the party... nada.
I called a locksmith and found out that nobody could do my key, that I would have to go to the dealer. It's a transponder, whatever the HELL that is. It would cost me $120 to replace if the one locksmith in town who could do it was free to do it at 8:30 Monday morning.
I realized that this is as broke as I've been all year, from traveling and holiday things and birthdays. I was going to totally make it until this act of irresponsibility and stupid party antics. I take that shit seriously. I want to be good, you know?
I cry.
All day.
Monday, my neighbor generously offered that I take her to work and go to my own work and get everything taken care of.
Did I forget to tell you that I left my debit card in the machine on Saturday afternoon?
I did.
No money, no car, all headache and self-pity.
I get to work and what is on my desk but a key chain with my keys!
Praise the LORD!
Magically, the clouds parted and everything was back to being okay.
I also got some perspective when a friend in Illinois told me that the ice storm made a tree crash onto the house... the house that is currently being outfitted with a new roof. The tree caused electrical work to have to be done and, while it did hole the tarp on the roof down nicely, sort of complicated the entire project.
Perspective, man.
I lost my keys for 24 hours.
I feel fine now.
Sometimes I just... forget.
I forget that being all alone and sort of poor aren't necessarily the things that equate to crises.
I forget that I'm mostly lucky.
I forget that I have an awesome job at an awesome company and these people would never judge me for where I live.
Now I remember that things are pretty delightful and hopeful and that I want them to stay that way for a long time to come.
arizonasarah at 3:47 p.m.