In order to properly recount the 11 Days of Fail, I've had to reexamine 2008 and there are so many suck nuggets to choose from. I earned less than ten grand this year, got fired from a job that required a name tag, and--until September-ish--my personal life was emptier than my bra cups. You need more? I've fallen down three flights of stairs on three separate occasions. I threw up in a canoe. I LISTENED TO FALL OUT BOY. Obviously Oh-Eight will go in the books as a giant casserole of Ugh. So let's dwell on it, shall we?
The first installment is also the most recent. This time last week, I was in Arizona with The New Boyfriend (TNB) who won't be given a different nickname until he loses that 'new boyfriend' smell. We spent two nights in Tucson at the Hilton El Conquistador* and--as I noted before--after spending 99 miles on the interstate, we just wanted to toss our bags in our room and head for the nearest bucket of tequila.
That was salt-rimmed mistake number one, not because I drank a lot, but because I have the alcohol tolerance of an earthworm. After one drink, I'm in love with you.
Two, I'm licking your face and may have proposed.
Three, I'm naked and arguing with a Rent-A-Cop about why I can't go down the waterslide again.
Anyway, I was buzzed enough to decide to do something thoughtful and pick up the tab for TNB, his sister, and INSANELY ADORABLE niece (who was not drinking). I stumbled toward the bartender, plunked my card on the counter, and she tried to convince me that I should just start a tab. Shaking my head, I insisted that I just wanted my check and possibly a receptacle to vomit into, so she gave me a receipt to autograph and--pleased with my overpriced round of generosity--we all headed back upstairs.
Luckily, I saved my receipt because that's the last time I'll do anything nice for anyone, ever.
The rest of the evening was uneventful. TNB and I had dinner at the hotel's Dos Locos** restaurant, because nothing is more appetizing than associating mental illness with the people who handle your food. We had a couple more drinks. We watched college football. Yes, I think I would like one more. We went to the outdoor
The next morning after breakfast, we stopped by Target to pick up a couple of things and when I whipped out my wallet there was...nothing. No ATM card, just my license, a couple of withering business cards, and my perpetually maxed-out Visa which I keep handy in case I need a bookmark. I rewound the night and realized with a shrug that I'd probably forgotten it at the pool bar. No worries, unless someone had drained my bank account by ordering a plate of nachos.
When we got back to the hotel, I made a frantic trip to the front desk where a helpful employee wearing a polyester vest and a permasmile told me not to worry, that he was sure the bar staff had either locked my card in the cash register or turned it over to hotel security. "No se preocupe," he said, although at that point, I was pretty fucking preocupe'd.
He smiled, patted my hand and made a call to the security station. Three sentences in and his expression started to darken. "Oh really?" he said, eyebrows jumping to high five his hairline. "You're kidding...we actually do that? Maybe you should tell that to her" He placed his hand over the receiver before passing it across the counter. "He wants to talk to you. Lo siento."
I took the phone warily, having complained about enough undercooked Mexican meals to realize that lo siento doesn't mean "Here's some really awesome news".
"Is this J-Money?" the heavily-accented baritone on the other end began.
"Yeah, you have my credit card?"
"Had.", he said, coughing before he continued. "We had it. Our bartender turned it in to my office, we checked for your name on the guest registry and when we didn't find a match, we destroyed the card."
"Destroyed? Like...just put it on a high shelf and waited for me to come pick it up?"
"Destroyed as in shredded. As in it's gone. Lo siento."
I handed the phone back across the counter and realizing I didn't know enough Spanish to say "Thanks so much, lunkhead" I gave a very American "Shit, shit, shit, shit, SHIT." I had no ATM card, no checks, and a worthless credit card, so I'd have to survive for another week on $52 and three McDonald's Monopoly pieces.
Stomping back upstairs, I immediately called my bank**** who was less than helpful. They wouldn't mail a replacement card to any address that wasn't stamped on my checks, despite the fact that I provided my SSN, date of my last transaction, and promised to send them a basket of candy. I hung up, paced around the room, then called back when I realized that my neighbor was collecting my mail so he could get the card and overnight it to Arizona. But, of course, the bank still wouldn't play nice. They wouldn't overnight it--their first offer was a glacial 7 to 10 business days--but they could send it Three Day Priority for an ADDITIONAL FIFTY DOLLARS because they apparently use envelopes made of BluRay discs.
Fast forwarding a bit, I survived by paying part of my Visa bill so I'd have enough available credit to cover eleven days of airport parking, spring Pigpen out of the kennel, and buy a chocolate peppermint milkshake at Chick-Fil-A. Now, of course, I'm maxxed again because trying to pay that card off is like trying to fill the Grand Canyon by peeing in it.
Ten days later, and Godot will probably show up before my ATM card. When I called to check in with them on Saturday morning, they hadn't even mailed it so I had no choice but to fork over fifty bones. I hope like hell it's in the box tomorrow...I could really use a drink.
* Official Motto: "So Long & Thanks for All The Smallpox".
** It can't be a good sign when the first thing mentioned in a review is the restaurant's fabric selection.
*** No, not for that. Just to relax. Because doing that, outside in full view of the hotel would be lewd, irresponsible, and can also give you a nasty yeast infection.
**** Their name sounds exactly like BB&T.*****
***** Which is an acronym for Bend over Bitch & Take it.