I’m still in bed with my ankle propped, trying to decide what to write about today. If you have read anything I’ve written about the Facebook before, you should know there’s another rant brewing there. I won’t launch into the whole thing, I’ll only mention my decision not to post anything about my current situation. No selfies from the ER, or thumbs up pictures as they were wheeling me into surgery. Not even a sad-faced closeup with #nomakeup. Trust me when I tell you, I have a series of ADORABLE pictures involving my dogs snuggled up to my cast that would bring the house down, but I’ve refrained so far.
I’m doing this to see how many of my “friends” would still remember that I was hurt without me constantly reminding them with staged pictures and whiny updates polluting their newsfeeds. I feel very fortunate being able to say that I’ve had a steady stream of friends (no quotations, see) send me well wishes. I’ve even had a few of my favorites come and visit me. They have kept me from falling into a complete state of depression and when this is all over with, I’m going to send them handwritten notes to tell them how much they mean to me. Don’t get me wrong, I told them that when they were here…but I was also fairly medicated. At some point, I’ll probably write a post for each of them – but right now I’m going to start with a great story involving today’s visitor.
A million years ago, at age 25, I started working at a police department. It was there that I met Amy. (No, that’s not actually her name – but we went through an Amy Winehouse period together and so this alias feels right.) Upon meeting her, I knew that we would one day be friends but that day would take some work getting to. The tale of our first conversation has been told many times to many audiences…but I feel like it’s fodder for it’s own blog, so I’ll wait. Let’s just say she didn’t like me immediately, but I grew on her.
Amy was, and still remains to be, one of the toughest women I’ve ever met in my life. She had worked for the PD for YEARS – from a patrol officer on up the ranks to Sergeant. When I met her, she was a detective. I remember watching her work though the cameras in the interview rooms and being absolutely in awe of her ability to speak to people. Amy always seemed to know when to go hard at a dirt-bag or appear sympathetic to get them to open up to her. The soft way she spoke to children and terrified victims brought tears to my eyes on more than one occasion. I admired her both on the clock, and afterwards – when she took off the uniform and was my friend. I was going through a horrible period in my personal life and she was there for me every step of the way – knowing how to talk to me the way I needed, too. She knew when I needed serious advice, but could also always make me laugh in the middle of what felt like my world crashing down.
Another important detail you need to know about Amy is that she is beautiful. When I first met her, she was in her early 40s, but people mistook us for sisters all the time. Oh, the smile that would spread across her face when she’d proclaim, “Sisters? I’m old enough to be her mother!” We usually made a scene when we went out together because we were pretty fun…or at least in our minds, anyway. Amy got me started running and training for triathlons (ALSO another story there!) and we did our first 5K together in Seattle, circa 2008. That’s where this event takes place.
Amy and I have a million funny stories of situations we have found ourselves in over the years. Getting patrol cars stuck places, locking ourselves out of houses, being stuck in elevators, using cookies instead of spoons when eating pudding, picking each other up off of dance floors when a big move had gone awry – you know, the usual. But of all our adventures, I find myself telling this one the most often as it can also serve as a cautionary tale for women ages 25-45.
We decided to hit the town and checkout the Seattle nightlife. I put on a ridiculous pair of purple high heels – because that’s what you should wear to walk downtown the night before a race – and we were off. The evening started innocently enough, as they always did, with a few drinks at a classy establishment near our hotel. Soon we were bored with that whole scene and decided to wander around, almost as if we were looking for trouble. We found it in the basement of some really rough looking Irish pub. We had only taken two steps into the dark and noisy room but were already whispering to each other that this might have been a mistake. Before we could make an exit move, a HUGE dude from the other side of the bar yells, “Hey! Hey you two – stop right there.”
We froze as he started lumbering through the crowd towards us. “Let me see some ID, right now!”
So Amy and I did what any normal woman would do in that situation. We panicked but tried to play it cool. Fumbling through our purses, we nervously reverted to our normal dialogue for when we got carded (I was 30 at this point, Amy 48). It was a high-pitched mix of, “Oh my!” and “How flattering!” with some “He just wants a big tip later!” and a “He must card everyone that comes in!” sprinkled on top for good measure. Well, I’m not sure which of these over-the-top exclamations pissed him off the most…what I do know is that he stopped short of us, turned around and headed back towards the bar.
Confused and still holding my license, I yelled after him, “Hey, I thought you needed our IDs?”
Without any hint of emotion, he shouted back, “Yeah. That was before I saw you up close.”
Ladies, here is what you should take away from this –
- Everyone needs a BFF like Amy in their lives.
- Don’t break in new high heels the night before a run, no matter how bangin’ you think they are.
- Do not use the term bangin’.
- Keep your mouth shut and give the bouncer your ID.