Do you remember that time when I lost all of my keys and credit cards after a night out in Washington, DC? I don’t, but I feel pretty confident that I’m the new poster child for why you shouldn’t start drinking at 4 PM on a Saturday. It didn’t hit me until the following Sunday afternoon that everything but my wallet key chain survived the previous night. “Everything” just seems really wrong, when all that was left in my purse was lipstick, an inhaler, and a pack of Tums. What was gone, however, was my car and house keys; two credit cards; and my Harris Teeter card, which may have been the most devastating loss of all. I’m glad I could at least treat whoever found my key chain to an $80 feast at the Pizza Mart in Adams Morgan, which was conveniently charged straight to the Visa. I was left to quickly figure out a game plan, forced to brainstorm ways to remove a key-less SUV from a garage with too small a clearance for towing.
I had no other choice but to book it back to North Carolina to retrieve the spare car key that the gems at Lexus in DC refused to reproduce. I can’t even begin to discuss the level of true glamour and glitz I experienced on the Amtrack train, which was the transportation option I chose since the Greyhound bus was never in the rankings. When I wasn’t blocking out the screaming child two rows ahead of me, I listened to a man’s tender story about the boo that recently cheated on him. If eavesdropping were a sport, I’m pretty sure I’d come in first place every time.
A picture can say a thousand words, but this one probably says more. I’m heading back to DC tomorrow with the spare key attached to my hip, or at least in a place where I can look every five minutes to make sure it’s still there. I’m not taking any chances, which means no wine for me on the ride back. Lesson learned?