This was about 3 years ago in Chicago. I took a break from the glorious excitement of Pittsburgh to travel to visit my friends in the Windy City for the weekend. I was staying with my dear friend Amanda whom I've known since freshman year in college at the University of Dayton. To say we spent many, many waking (and passed out) moments together that year would be an understatement. On with the show, I arrived at her extremely cute apartment and immediately she had a plethora of festivities on the agenda, I love this girl. We grabbed dinner and then headed to a 80's cover rock band concert for the evening. So perfect. 7 drinks into the evening, I decide to visit the ladies room. After successfully completing my tasks, I begin the long journey back to Amanda at the front of the stage (uh, of course) which took me a good 20 minutes. Being the quickest lightning thinking drunk I've ever met, Amanda notices I am without my purse. What did I do with it, she asks? Huh? Wha? Oh shit.
I beeline it (for the next 20 minutes) back to what I thought was the bathroom, but actually was a totally different bathroom and went into the wrong stall in the wrong bathroom to boot, to look for my long-gone Coach purse. I won't keep you in suspense. It wasn't there? Bullshit, you say? The hell it wasn't? Oh but you doubt my abilities to thwart my own good times. So I panic hysterically, of course, and try to call Amanda from the bathroom because I was smart enough to keep my cell phone in my pocket back then. But the band was so freaking loud that I couldn't hear anything so I walk outside to call her, but hello, she's still inside with the loud band.
So coincidentally, I remember that I have the power to ruin two different people's perfectly good evenings by calling Mr. G. Because as chance would have it, he was in Chicago as well for his friend's Bachelor party. Ring, ring. Hi! It's your idiot fiance calling, do you know how often this is going to happen once we're married? Do you have any idea? No? Well, let me tell you then, A LOT. So he leaves his friends to come pick me up in a cab at the bar and take me back to his hotel room so I can call all of the credit card companies and banks etc that I had previously done business with to cancel said business before said business starts making 1-900 calls to Cuba and importing Asian White Leopards on my tab.
The next day is spent trying to figure out how to get me on the plane back to Pittsburgh, with no id and the only back-up id in Columbus where my parents are and who I absolutely cannot call because then I would have to explain the situation and I am 24 years old, by god, I shouldn't have to remind my parents that I've grown up into an idiot AGAIN. Randomly, throughout the day I've been trying to find a number to the bar where we had seen the band the night before through various Yellow Pages and 411 calls. Eventually, I get the number and begin calling it every few minutes but no one ever answers. Of course. After Amanda and I leave the boys to be on there merry way, we decide we better stop for some drinks to help the situation. As we're heading towards a local watering hole, she mentions we're close to the bar where I lost the damn purse, maybe we should stop by, you know, just to check.
People, I jest you not, I realize I have the ying and the yang to this "luck" thing in the bag. At times I have the certifiably and painfully worst luck, and at times I have the God-has-reached-down-from-Heaven-in-pity-of-my-stupidity good luck. We walk into the bar, and I'm all shy and stupid feeling to the hosts. Did you happen to have a purse turned in last night that was found in a bathroom? (Cringe for the blow). The two people exchange a knowing glance that says, yeah - you were that girl, weren't ya? Then one says, what color was it? A small seed of hope has sprouted, the light begins to filter into the bar one golden ray at a time. It's pink and maroon, it's Coach, I fumble out all at once. He says probably not. The sunlight is gone, the clouds are rumbling and billowing in the wind. Let me just check though, then he turns to go into the office and the sunlight is pouring in now, angels start tuning their voices in the heavens. I wait. I wait. I'm not breathing. And Jesus Christ himself walked out of that office with my purse, my FULL AND COMPLETE purse in his hands. Holy Cannoli, JC. You really had me going there for a minute. I said.
True Story.
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