Thirsty Work
Posted by Moose on July 17th, 2006. Filed under: Adventures.“I’m glad I know you’re exaggerating. Otherwise I’d think you were a drunk.”
Does anyone here not understand that I’m exaggerating? Anyone think I’m a drunk? If my own mother is a bit unclear, I thought it best to check with the rest of you.
Allow me to state, in no uncertain terms, that I am not a drunk. Just because I’m thinking about walking to the kitchen for a beer does not mean I’m a drunk. The same beer I am thinking about opening has been sitting in the fridge for at least three weeks. And I haven’t touched the gin brewing in the bath tub for three whole hours.
So there.
Unfortunately, accounts of haplessness are not exaggerated. I am not a drunk, but I am a walking disaster. And I can safely say that you work up a thirst standing around feeling stupid.
Sunday afternoon: We had just finished brunch with my parents. I stashed my goodies in the car and walked to mom’s car to inspect something she was hoping to pawn off on me. We return to the car and discover that I had stashed my purse next to the goodies and merrily locked the door.
Need I even say that the car keys were in my purse?
I didn’t think so.
Cue to Moose contemplating the best way to sink into the concrete, while a patient someone investigates the best way to get in without applying booted foot to window. Meeka – luckily outside the car – chased phantom squirrels. I didn’t seem to be sinking into the pavement, so began assessing my options for disappearing into the shrubbery.
People kept pausing next to us to laugh before smugly flicking the car keys in the ignition and roaring off. Sure, we were parked next to a stop sign and no one was actually laughing. At least not with their mouths open. But still. One of the cars that passed was a cop car. I look both honest and hapless, precisely the kind of person you would expect to see peering into a car window, attempting to propel the keys into motion with her piercing, reptilian glare.
An hour later, we were still glaring balefully at the car when a fire truck drove up (called by the cops, I assume) and three firemen hopped out. I felt bad about wasting city resources – i.e. three firemen and one big red truck – to bail out my sorry ass, until I realized that if they weren’t breaking into my car, they’d probably be at the station watching TV. It’s not like they were jimmying open my car door in favor of putting out a fire somewhere.
Drunkard or not, when we climbed into the car to drive home, I wanted a beer. Being an idiot is thirsty work.
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