In keeping with the theme I've got going with the old photos I thought this one was a lovely one to share. That is my dear friend Tracy and I doing shots during an event called Gator Stompin'. Why yes, those are recently emptied shot glasses... um plastic condiment cups, because college bars are classy like that, in our other hands. For those who were not lucky enough to attend one of the nation's top party schools, Gator Stompin' is an evening where one pays a set price, and then consumes massive amounts of alcohol... um, has drinks ... in several participating bars lining University Blvd. The horribly unattractive oversized shapeless t-shirts served as our proof that we had paid to take part in this semiannual bacchanal.
So my confession this week while dated, true. I drank - A LOT - especially in my college days. The word lush comes to mind. My sorority was often lovingly referred to, even by us members as Alcohol Omega. I truly lived by the "you can always retake a class, but you can't relive the party" philosophy I once saw on a t-shirt. Note to college age self, possibly a t-shirt being worn by a fraternity boy is not the best place to be looking for words of wisdom.
A few weeks back while confessing to losing my social security card I mentioned that I had only once ever in my "adult" life misplaced my purse or wallet. Of course it was in a bar during my college years. Back in the day we used to just carry what we called the "party purse" big enough for an id, cash and a key. I still remember the cute little red one I had that night. It had a clear pocket on the outside for an id, eliminating the apparently huge hassle of having to search for one's license in the pixie sized purse. For some reason this little gem had no shoulder strap, I suppose that made it a clutch purse (I do believe knowing that term much less using it makes me older than dirt). What I don't really remember is why the tiny little purse was too hard to hold onto, oh yeah that would be because I was drunk. In any case I sat it on the bar while I went to dance with friends. Now our sorority and a fraternity had rented out said bar for a private party. And the fraternity in question was the one where I was a little sister so I wasn't concerned about someone stealing my purse... until I couldn't find it.
Wait I need to back up to before the party. I drove my big old honkin tank to the party, parked in a perfectly legal, at night, parking spot, got out and realized I had a flat tire. I didn't want to spend half my evening, while everyone else was partying, waiting for AAA. So I jotted a note saying "flat tire, will move asap" for the parking enforcement the next day and left it in my windshield with the intentions of coming by in the morning to deal with the tire. Then I figured, I won't be driving home, I can drink. Sweet!
Now we are back to me leaving all my purse on the counter as I proceeded to get shit faced. The guys, my boys, were buying my drinks so the purse was left without a second thought. At some point I convinced a cute brother I wanted to kiss to walk me home. And life was good for this little co-ed.
Then I woke up the next morning. I remembered the flat tire. I remembered cute boy walked me home. The sorority house has a code lock on the front door, because someone was smart enough to know making and keeping up with keys for all those girls was crazy talk, so I hadn't needed a key to get in. Now where was my purse? Last time I remembered seeing it was ON THE BAR! OH SHIT! Called the bar. Called the fraternity house, checked with hot escort boy. He's no help and I was embarrassed. That was fun. Basically I called everyone, everywhere I could think of all day. The only logical conclusion? It was stolen.
So I called and canceled my credit cards, froze my bank account and then made the dreaded call. I was praying I could keep it a secret. But I needed money... fast. My parents wired me cash. Do you know where Western Union's are? In neighborhoods where people need money... fast. Ours was in the train station downtown. And guess what? My id was of course still in that little clear pocket. I had no way to prove I was the person that was supposed to receive that money...fast. Apparently this is common with persons needing money...fast, because it was totally a non-issue. When my dad sent the money he had to give them a password that only I would know. Here's the funny part, I was on my way to pick up the money, and remember old as dirt, so no cell phones, therefore he couldn't tell me about needing this super secret code word. The woman at the counter explained about the need for a password and without hesitation I said "Turkey" my dad's nickname for me and lo and behold the woman handed me an envelope full of money. My parents still laugh at that part of the story. Only that part of course. Because they also had to contact AAA swear I was who I said I was, because although I had my AAA card I had NO ID! And they had to pay an extra fee for AAA to do us this big favor. Then someone came and changed my tire so I could move my car out of the not legal, during the daytime, parking place I left it in. That part they never saw the humor in.
And now for the kicker. Because here at Casa de Pete there's always a kicker. This entire scenario took place in less than 24 hours. The one person I hadn't ever been able to contact had been my big brother. When I got home from Western Union I had a message from him. "You left your purse on the bar last night so I grabbed it for you. Come on over whenever and get it from my room." You are f'in kidding me?! This ladies and gentlemen is why you should never drink so much that you think leaving your shit on the bar is a good idea!
So cop to it, what kind of dumb shit did you do when you were younger? Or yesterday? Whatever, we are not here to judge.
Labels: true confessions