Disaster averted! But it did not come without a bit of tension. Having rescheduled my flight to 1pm Monday, I had some time to hunt down my wallet. As I mentioned in my last post, I was 99% sure it was in the returned tux bag, either in the pants pocket or inside coat pocket. The store opened at 10am, so my Mom and I drove there around 9:30 to see if they would open up early for us.
[aside]
As we are walking to car, Mom says, in all sincerity, "Do you want to drive?"
I notice she is not making a joke, so I say, "Well, I don't have my wallet or ID, but..."
We laugh.
[end aside]
The nice man at the store sees me peering through the glass doors, trying to get his attention. My Dad and I both had left voice mails with the store late the night prior, letting them know my plight. I had not received a return phone call yet.
"Can I help you sir?"
"I know you're not open yet, but I left a voice mail. I think I left a personal item in my tuxedo bag, which was returned yesterday. Are they still here?"
"We had about 160 tuxedos returned yesterday. But yes, they're still here. Come on in."
Nice of me to try and gain entrance by simply saying, "I left a voice mail." As if phoning first should give us all access to any private business. He leads me to the backroom, where there are 4 or 5 racks of tuxes. I hand him the ticket from my purchase, and he shows me what number I'm looking for. None of the tuxes have names on them anymore.
I rummage through two racks, and find my number at the end of the 2nd. "Here it is" I announce. I zip open the bag and begin patting and digging in the coat and pants. No wallet. I check the bottom of the bag in case it fell out of the hanging pants. No wallet. The shirt does not have a pocket.
I can't believe it! If the wallet isn't here, I have no clue where it is - maybe left at the cottage (1.5 hour drive one-way) or maybe lost at the pub. But I don't believe in my heart that is the case. The man says, "Why don't you check the shoe compartment in the bag?" Yeah right. But desperate, I zip it open. I quickly deduce that the bag of accessories I placed in the shoe compartment is not there. Seconds later, I realize the shoes were not the ones I wore at all - size 10. I'm a 12. This isn't my bag! But wait, if it matches my ticket, what happened to my bag?!
Since my buddy AJ returned it together with his, maybe the tickets got messed up, we think. So we just start scrambling through that same rack, looking for another powder blue vest-tie combo. Success! Okay, I know this is my bag, I can tell by the musky smell. Coat first - no wallet. Pants pocket - Yes! There it is! Everything in it!
Whew. I made it with time to spare. After visiting the Mrs. Fields at Rivertown, getting a delicious frozen cappuccino drink, and saying hi to the manager, my Mom and I browse Barnes & Noble for a while before heading to the airport, where I could present my driver's license proudly and head home.
Oh, and Josh's wedding was pretty sweet, too. More on that later?
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Sunday, June 22, 2008
I am an Idiot
It's been almost a month and I have plenty to blog about, but the reason I'm up at 12:24 am EST (I'm in Michigan) is because I just now realized I lost my wallet, and I have an 8:30 flight scheduled for tomorrow morning to get me back home. This morning, I packed up the rental tux I wore on Saturday for Josh's wedding, dropped it off to AJ's house, since the store wouldn't open until later, and I was off to the cottage with my sister and parents. I had no need for my wallet, and it never came into my consciousness today. I simply grabbed a swimsuit and book and planned to sleep in the back of the car on the way up - I got in at 1:30 am Sunday morning after a phenomenal party-bus ride, reception, and after hours night cap at C-Pub (woo woo!) And no, I did not leave the wallet there or anywhere else yesterday. It has to be in that stupid tux bag. Here's the rub: they don't open until 10 am, don't have a 24-hr hotline, and who knows if the bag is still even in that location. I imagine they whisk them away to a dry cleaner on the seedier side of town, and encourage the staff to rummage around, since I likely signed away any responsibility to the store on some stupid waiver. Needless to say, I cannot get on a plane without an ID, and I cannot make an 8:30 flight when the store opens at 10. If they actually have my wallet, that is.
Tune in next time to see what the heck happens!
Tune in next time to see what the heck happens!
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Converging on Chicago
I'm getting married this summer, so you'd think I would have a whole bunch of stuff to write about. Plans, logistics, worries, anticipation, costs, honeymoon... Thing is, Annie has done 94% of the planning and coordinating and decision making, so my thoughts are: She's doing great! Also, both her and my parents are being super generous with their time, money, and help in this deal that I don't want to step on their toes. Yeah, that's it! My jobs have been to work on the website (haven't touched it in a month or so), get a pastor/minister (none yet), and work on Men's apparel (I don't dress like a grown up so this is much harder for me than she realizes). And I secured the park contract for our site - after she chose the site - and it appears I did not secure the ability to play music through speakers, so I need to work on that too.
But this morning, just now, I did look up information on Cook County marriage licenses and figured out how and when we should get one. Bet she hadn't thought about that, huh! Plus her Dad is giving me tickets to the Tigers-White Sox game in Chicago the Thursday before our date, and I've told a few people about that. Let's see, what else... We're going on a cruise for our honeymoon - leaving from San Juan P.R. - so that's going to be sweet. I did buy a new swimsuit and have been doing some sit-ups so she's not embarrassed to be seen with me...
Yeah that's about it. We have a lot to do. Thankfully she is very good at this planning stuff since she used to do it for a living. And she is organized and thoughtful and good at schedules and stuff. Did I mention how beautiful and sweet she is, too? You're doing great, babe! It'll be worth it I swear!
Next weekend we're going to Chicago to do some on-site planning, hang out with her dad & stepmom & brothers, and my parents are coming down from G.R. to hang out, too! Any reason to party in Chicago is a good reason. Weddings especially. Even the planning part.
But this morning, just now, I did look up information on Cook County marriage licenses and figured out how and when we should get one. Bet she hadn't thought about that, huh! Plus her Dad is giving me tickets to the Tigers-White Sox game in Chicago the Thursday before our date, and I've told a few people about that. Let's see, what else... We're going on a cruise for our honeymoon - leaving from San Juan P.R. - so that's going to be sweet. I did buy a new swimsuit and have been doing some sit-ups so she's not embarrassed to be seen with me...
Yeah that's about it. We have a lot to do. Thankfully she is very good at this planning stuff since she used to do it for a living. And she is organized and thoughtful and good at schedules and stuff. Did I mention how beautiful and sweet she is, too? You're doing great, babe! It'll be worth it I swear!
Next weekend we're going to Chicago to do some on-site planning, hang out with her dad & stepmom & brothers, and my parents are coming down from G.R. to hang out, too! Any reason to party in Chicago is a good reason. Weddings especially. Even the planning part.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Big Tuesday Part II
As I sped south down I-15, the valley was growing ever darker and foggier - I couldn't tell if it was a mixture of dust and gray clouds, or actual rain. You can always see weather systems coming and going in this valley, but it was hard to figure this one out. Turns out the wind was the only real concern. The games prior to mine were still being played in what appeared to be a desert sand tornado. The burly outfielders in the "Men's League" were shielding their eyes and turning their backs to the action, just to survive. I kept looking back into the wind to see if there were any church steeples or renegade snowboards hurtling toward me (the Utah version of the movie Twister), but fortunately I was safe. I thought there was no way we'd even get to our game. But I waited it out, and right around 8:00 PM, the winds calmed down, no rain came, and we took the field.
Even now, my throbbing left shoulder and scabby left knee remind me of how I wish the rains would have come, the winds would have persisted, a snowboard missile would have threatened my well-being.
I'm like a lot of dudes in that I think I'm awesome at sports. All of them. Forget actual experience or skill or ability. I've never before played cricket, but if you put me on a field I imagine I'd be a tremendous wicket-keeper or silly mid-on. Since I ran track in Jr. High & High School, I didn't play baseball beyond little league. But in recent years, I've really come to enjoy recreational softball. Co-ed leagues are relaxed and fun, and normally I feel like a 'good' player simply because I'm a reasonably able athlete who is not afraid of getting struck by the ball. I wear a "MTA Pro" ball glove that I found at a park, probably in 5th or 6th grade. It still fits my hand and hasn't fallen apart yet so I don't worry about a new one. I don myself in cleats and batting gloves, as they make me feel cool. The combination of theater and competition in organized sports leads me to exert more effort than my talent or body is willing to support. In softball reality, I'm a terrible hitter, but a pretty good left-fielder (this week). But more than anything, I play really hard. In co-ed softball, for nothing.
My first at bat on Tuesday, I tapped a grounder down the 3rd base line, and sprinted toward first like my hair was on fire. This is normal for me. Since I can barely hit it out of the infield, my best chance at getting on base is to scare the crap out of the girl/guy at first so she/he drops it. This time it was a she. I either beat the throw or she dropped it, can't quite remember, but I made the boneheaded error of turning in toward the infield after I heard "Safe!", which I immediately realized made me a live base runner. I looked, and the girl had the ball, not quite sure what to do. I knew I couldn't return to 1st so I feigned a jog, stopped, looked to see if she would throw or chase, took two small steps, then broke into a full-on bull rush toward second. I gave the 2nd basewoman a crazy-person glare and slid - hard - coming to rest with my left hip on the bag. Safe! I tried to pop up, but my left shoulder wouldn't cooperate. When I slid, left hand down, my weight dropping back must have torqued my arm back and up. I could immediately tell I had aggravated an injury I got about 3 years ago...playing softball. And sliding always has another consequence for me - leg damage. I just can't do it right. I even wear pants in order to avoid major dirt-filled gouges, but sure enough, I could feel my knee had taken a pretty good beating. A couple batters later I scored, and I played the entire game in left, making a number of solid catches and no errors. This pleased me, but by the time I woke up Wednesday morning, I realized why most professional athletes peak around ages 26-30. I'm 29. I'm nearing the end.
The leg damage has been much worse in the past, and actually reminds me of a funny story. In my first year of co-ed, with my old church in Kentwood, MI, I slid into 2nd in shorts - again after getting caught in a base running predicament - leaving my skin behind from mid-shin to knee. I consulted with my mother, a trained nurse and, well, my mom, who recommended soaking the leg in epsom salts to help it heal faster. At the time I was living in this groovy tri-level that I rented with 3 buddies (Houseman!) which had a tub in the upper bathroom. The tub butted up against a dividing wall about 3' high, the toilet on the other side. The tub was never used, and thus had no curtain or door. Wearing a swimsuit, I soaked and soaked, and sloughed off dead skin and dirt and somehow didn't pass out. Standing at the divider end of the tub, with bandage and washcloth in each hand and my left leg propped on the edge, I began dressing my wound. Predictably, my foot slipped off the edge and with no hands free to brace myself, my forehead stopped my forward momentum on the countertop of the divider. So I'm standing there, soaking wet, leg like raw meat, forehead split and bleeding. I looked at myself in the mirror and found comfort in the fact that I had both bandages and a washcloth in my hands, and now had something to take my mind off my searing leg pain.
Anyway, I'm not really that clumsy or injury prone - except for when I fall going UP stairs (Murray will laugh at that one) - but I probably need to slow down at times.
I was going to write a Big Tuesday Part III, which was going to be about the Pistons game I watched on DVR. But they lost - and now they've won Game 2 which was awesome. So that's all I have to say about that.
Even now, my throbbing left shoulder and scabby left knee remind me of how I wish the rains would have come, the winds would have persisted, a snowboard missile would have threatened my well-being.
I'm like a lot of dudes in that I think I'm awesome at sports. All of them. Forget actual experience or skill or ability. I've never before played cricket, but if you put me on a field I imagine I'd be a tremendous wicket-keeper or silly mid-on. Since I ran track in Jr. High & High School, I didn't play baseball beyond little league. But in recent years, I've really come to enjoy recreational softball. Co-ed leagues are relaxed and fun, and normally I feel like a 'good' player simply because I'm a reasonably able athlete who is not afraid of getting struck by the ball. I wear a "MTA Pro" ball glove that I found at a park, probably in 5th or 6th grade. It still fits my hand and hasn't fallen apart yet so I don't worry about a new one. I don myself in cleats and batting gloves, as they make me feel cool. The combination of theater and competition in organized sports leads me to exert more effort than my talent or body is willing to support. In softball reality, I'm a terrible hitter, but a pretty good left-fielder (this week). But more than anything, I play really hard. In co-ed softball, for nothing.
My first at bat on Tuesday, I tapped a grounder down the 3rd base line, and sprinted toward first like my hair was on fire. This is normal for me. Since I can barely hit it out of the infield, my best chance at getting on base is to scare the crap out of the girl/guy at first so she/he drops it. This time it was a she. I either beat the throw or she dropped it, can't quite remember, but I made the boneheaded error of turning in toward the infield after I heard "Safe!", which I immediately realized made me a live base runner. I looked, and the girl had the ball, not quite sure what to do. I knew I couldn't return to 1st so I feigned a jog, stopped, looked to see if she would throw or chase, took two small steps, then broke into a full-on bull rush toward second. I gave the 2nd basewoman a crazy-person glare and slid - hard - coming to rest with my left hip on the bag. Safe! I tried to pop up, but my left shoulder wouldn't cooperate. When I slid, left hand down, my weight dropping back must have torqued my arm back and up. I could immediately tell I had aggravated an injury I got about 3 years ago...playing softball. And sliding always has another consequence for me - leg damage. I just can't do it right. I even wear pants in order to avoid major dirt-filled gouges, but sure enough, I could feel my knee had taken a pretty good beating. A couple batters later I scored, and I played the entire game in left, making a number of solid catches and no errors. This pleased me, but by the time I woke up Wednesday morning, I realized why most professional athletes peak around ages 26-30. I'm 29. I'm nearing the end.
The leg damage has been much worse in the past, and actually reminds me of a funny story. In my first year of co-ed, with my old church in Kentwood, MI, I slid into 2nd in shorts - again after getting caught in a base running predicament - leaving my skin behind from mid-shin to knee. I consulted with my mother, a trained nurse and, well, my mom, who recommended soaking the leg in epsom salts to help it heal faster. At the time I was living in this groovy tri-level that I rented with 3 buddies (Houseman!) which had a tub in the upper bathroom. The tub butted up against a dividing wall about 3' high, the toilet on the other side. The tub was never used, and thus had no curtain or door. Wearing a swimsuit, I soaked and soaked, and sloughed off dead skin and dirt and somehow didn't pass out. Standing at the divider end of the tub, with bandage and washcloth in each hand and my left leg propped on the edge, I began dressing my wound. Predictably, my foot slipped off the edge and with no hands free to brace myself, my forehead stopped my forward momentum on the countertop of the divider. So I'm standing there, soaking wet, leg like raw meat, forehead split and bleeding. I looked at myself in the mirror and found comfort in the fact that I had both bandages and a washcloth in my hands, and now had something to take my mind off my searing leg pain.
Anyway, I'm not really that clumsy or injury prone - except for when I fall going UP stairs (Murray will laugh at that one) - but I probably need to slow down at times.
I was going to write a Big Tuesday Part III, which was going to be about the Pistons game I watched on DVR. But they lost - and now they've won Game 2 which was awesome. So that's all I have to say about that.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Big Tuesday Part I
It was Tuesday. A big day. A big night, really. After sending off the boss at work, it was soccer game for the kid, softball game for me, Pistons-Celtics game on DVR. New wrinkle for soccer: Coach out for the game, Annie volunteered in. Annie technically in, Steve actually in. Annie brought snacks, and really good ones. Preston's 1st-2nd grade league allows 6 players on the field at a time including the goalie. Normally, 7 or 8 kids show up for each game. Tuesday night, however, was a big night. An eleven kid night. Eleven kids for 6 positions. Eleven kids who want to play the three "forward" positions. For those disinclined to the beautiful game, forwards get to kick it toward the goal more than the rest.
We were there first. Preston. Then Kaitlyn. Cade and Rhett arrived together. "Hi guys, Preston's mom is the coach tonight, she's over there. I'm Steve."
"I wanna play forward! I always play forward!"
William and Colin arrive - that's six! We got a team, baby! Let's start Preston in goal, and then we'll - wait, here come two more girls. You're Julia? I'm Steve. Preston's mom is the coach tonight. And you're Kendall? Are you even on this team? You play forward?
"Can I start at forward?"
So Preston in goal, Kaitlyn and Julia and William up front, Rhett and Cade can start on defense. I know, Kaitlyn. Wait, there's another Kaitlyn? Oh, hey. Preston's mom is coaching tonight. You wanna play - yeah, I'll get you in there later. Hey, where's that really good kid, the one that scores all the goals? Oh - Clayton, there he is, he's their best forward. Sheesh - that's ten kids, we're going to have to sub a lot, keep these parents happy. Who's that red head? Is he on the team, too? His name is Colton - are you serious? I'm going to put him on defense.
"I play forward the whole 4th quarter, and don't take me out."
Cute freckles kid. Let me get this straight: Cade, Colin, Colton, Kaitlyn, Kaitlyn, Kendall, Clayton? Needless to say, Preston, Rhett, William and Julia are starting, with Cade and Kaitlyn.
The rest of you - wait until I call out a name, like "Cloytlin", and then just run in there for someone.
Well, the game went great - Preston was strong in goal and got a good 2 minute stint in the forward rotation. I stopped the game at least 5 times to shift kids around and move 2 of the 5 forwards to defense for one possession. Cloytlin scored like 8 goals and we rolled. First coaching experience, Great Success! Oh, and Annie played her part - the kids loved the oranges and Creamies. If you're from Michigan, "Creamies" might not ring a bell. For a minute I thought they were eating Coffee-mate on a stick or something. Turns out they're just what we midwesterners call fudgesicles or ice cream pops.
On the way to the softball field, a storm was a-brewin...
We were there first. Preston. Then Kaitlyn. Cade and Rhett arrived together. "Hi guys, Preston's mom is the coach tonight, she's over there. I'm Steve."
"I wanna play forward! I always play forward!"
William and Colin arrive - that's six! We got a team, baby! Let's start Preston in goal, and then we'll - wait, here come two more girls. You're Julia? I'm Steve. Preston's mom is the coach tonight. And you're Kendall? Are you even on this team? You play forward?
"Can I start at forward?"
So Preston in goal, Kaitlyn and Julia and William up front, Rhett and Cade can start on defense. I know, Kaitlyn. Wait, there's another Kaitlyn? Oh, hey. Preston's mom is coaching tonight. You wanna play - yeah, I'll get you in there later. Hey, where's that really good kid, the one that scores all the goals? Oh - Clayton, there he is, he's their best forward. Sheesh - that's ten kids, we're going to have to sub a lot, keep these parents happy. Who's that red head? Is he on the team, too? His name is Colton - are you serious? I'm going to put him on defense.
"I play forward the whole 4th quarter, and don't take me out."
Cute freckles kid. Let me get this straight: Cade, Colin, Colton, Kaitlyn, Kaitlyn, Kendall, Clayton? Needless to say, Preston, Rhett, William and Julia are starting, with Cade and Kaitlyn.
The rest of you - wait until I call out a name, like "Cloytlin", and then just run in there for someone.
Well, the game went great - Preston was strong in goal and got a good 2 minute stint in the forward rotation. I stopped the game at least 5 times to shift kids around and move 2 of the 5 forwards to defense for one possession. Cloytlin scored like 8 goals and we rolled. First coaching experience, Great Success! Oh, and Annie played her part - the kids loved the oranges and Creamies. If you're from Michigan, "Creamies" might not ring a bell. For a minute I thought they were eating Coffee-mate on a stick or something. Turns out they're just what we midwesterners call fudgesicles or ice cream pops.
On the way to the softball field, a storm was a-brewin...
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