OMG, what the hell happened???
Friday night was suppose to be a simple drink with a highschool friend, DV.
We ended up at this dive called the Cambie, in a dodgey part of Vancouver east. Basically cheap drinks and the thought of eating dinner was not a prevalent activity.
DV and I plowed right in to catch up to her co-workers and we never looked back. Which wasn’t the most brilliant thing because after a jagger-bomb and tequila shots, beer AND vodka. Looking back would have been smart, because I would have noticed that DV had left me high and dry around 11pm. Left me talking to a guy who turned out to be married. That’s right folks. Married. Nope no ring. But drunk conversations have slip ups and this guy mentioned his wife. I got up and left the table. In fact I got up and left the bar.
Outside the bar I proceeded to drunk dial the Latino boy, whom I called it quits with on Thursday night, because being all up in his face about living in Ladner seemed like a good idea all while in the cab ride home. The cabbie had to have been entertained by the drunken ramblings of a girl at midnight. Although I’m sure he’s heard worse. I’m surprised I remembered where I lived and was able to grumble out my address.
Somehow I made it from the cab to my bed, not sure how as I don’t remember.
I woke up startled at 8:30am on Saturday morning all alone with my pajamas on backwards and inside out. A feat not accomplished by many I’m assuming. My phone charging in a random place in my living room and the nagging feeling that I didn’t pay the cabbie.
So the hunt for the wallet began. Soon after the adrenaline of not finding the wallet ensued. Almost a year to the date of my wallet being stolen while in Toronto, I seemed to have successfully lost my wallet.
The realization that I was unsure of even what taxi I rode in was dawning on me as quickly as the anxiety of my wallet being missing. And since I still don’t have a computer with internet at home, I luckily had not recycled the yellow pages. I phoned yellow taxi, black top cabs and McLure’s only to discover that Lost & Found will be open on Monday. *sigh*
With my head pounding and my stomach churning, I get dressed and try to make myself presentable to society. I reluctantly accept my fate that I have to go to the bank and deal with snippy 20 year olds who are as hungover as I. All the while I’m positive I left the cab with my wallet. Puzzled and disheveled. I leave my apartment and carefully descend down 32 stairs to the fork in the road. Do I head straight to my car in the alley? Or do I just for kicks, check out the front of the building in hope beyond all hope that I stupidly dropped my wallet on the walkway to the front door?
What the hell? I have nothing to loose and everything to gain if my wallet is sitting there in the walkway mocking me. So I go through the stairwell door, down the hallway, take a right into the lobby and stand in shock starring out the floor to ceiling windows and front door. There it is. My stupid moment of 2008.
Covered in morning dew is my wallet. Tucked nicely against a foot high retaining wall. Completly open. I bend over to gingerly pick it up and browse through the contents, all the while my head might fall off my body. All of my information, personal items and money minus $20 were inside.
I turned on my heel and headed straight back upstairs to my apartment and to the bathroom floor. Where I proceeded to feel the pain of such a stupid mistake for no less than 8 hours and no more than 72.
I now know what it feels like to want to die.