A Day Worth Writing About

Dear Craig,
Wednesday came and almost went like any other day. I showed up to work (Boss Tweed's Saloon, 115 Essex Street. Anyone reading this should drink there!) and my first customer asked me if I had been out drinking the night before - I hadn't. Then my boss came in the bar and said I looked like a "dirty stay-out." I informed him that I had gone to the gym, showered, and had coffee before I arrived at the bar by noon. So much for trying. I finished my day shift at the bar and poured myself a glass of wine while I went out to the courtyard to listen to a voicemail my mother had left me. Sadly, my mother informed me that my very active 84 year old grandfather had suffered a stroke and was in the hospital. When I got in touch with my mother she assured me that for the time being everything was going to be okay. I went to bed that night feeling strange, but hopeful for his recovery.
When I awoke on Thursday to get ready for work, there was something in the air that morning - the smell of smoke. As I was blow drying my hair and not running too too late, my hair dryer went up in flames. FLAMES!!! Smoke was billowing out the back of the hair dryer and balls of fire shot out the front. The fact that I didn't burn half the hair on my head off and stayed home is only because God wanted a good laugh as struggled through the rest of the day.
As I was making my way out the front door, I fumbled my keys, twice, but caught them! I locked the door and proclaimed to myself, "I am going to have a great day!" Ha!
Starbucks made my coffee quickly, no line to throw my quarter down for the paper at the newsstand, made my train, got to work on time. Sweet. Arriving at work, I am responsible to raise the newly fixed electronic gate. It had been broken for months and after a few complaints to management that my arms were getting too buff from lifting it manually with the chain, my boss had a key made up for me and paid hundreds of dollars to fix the electronic motor. As he handed me the key about a month ago he said, "You break it, you buy it." No problem! Unfortunately, there is this little chain that needs to be released to turn the key and raise the gate and sometimes it gets stuck and this morning it was stuck. After a helpful gentlemen, using a screwdriver helped me get the chain unstuck, flustered, I removed the lock and inserted the key to raise the gate. A second after turning the key, I hear a popping sound. The motor stops working and the gate will not move. At that exact time the regular at the bar who also happens to own a shop where he fixes things - such as this exact gate about a month ago - came riding by on his bicycle. After an initial inspection we couldn't figure out the problem. Eventually we had gathered a small crowd outside the bar when someone realized the ditsy bartender forgot to take the pin out of the gate when she took the lock off. Oh shit.
After a three second internal protest, I called my boss at 12:15 pm and informed him that I had just purchased the gate. He said he would be along and then my cell phone battery died and I couldn't charge it sitting on the street. And then the liquor deliveries started to arrive. And then the cops from the ninth precinct came. And then I sat in front of the bar with twenty-five cases of liquor, three cops, an expanding bladder, the fear of losing my job, dignity or common sense clearly no where in sight, and a gate that I can't afford. Fortunately the cops are regulars and good friends of the bar and were able to finally get a clear message to my boss (who thought I was able to get inside) that I was actually sitting outside (maybe I cried a little, okay?!) for three and a half hours while I considered all my future employment options.
About twenty minutes later my boss rolls in and asks the cops to call for back up. Five cops and a boss later and they're lifting the gate until it would stay up by itself and we were able to open the bar. It also happened to be one of the cop's, that was babysitting me, birthday. They were all coming to the bar that afternoon to drink and celebrate anyway- clearly having a vested interest to get that bar open and the booze flowing. We laughed and drank once we got inside (and carried in the many cases of liquor). I asked my boss if I was fired and he said, "Not yet." Very good sign. The NYPD informed me that the party will be continuing that evening at Bar None, same owner as Boss Tweed's and that I should join them. It was Bartender Brett's birthday, as well, along with his good friend who turned out to be Kiernan Culkin's (Mcauley Culkin's brother) birthday too. After my shift, my boss told me the estimate to fix the gate came to three hundred dollars. Good thing I didn't lose my job. Broke and bound to party, I headed uptown to Bar None and was greeted by the bouncer who was very friendly when I said I was a friend of Brett. I met up with the cops, got a drink, took a shot, got another drink, ran into my fellow bartending gal pal, and had another shot. Brett introduced me to Kiernan. Someone else handed me a Xanax to ease the pain of the day (don't tell the cops) and then I started taking shots with the two midgets hired to help entertain at the party. One was dressed as a clown and one was dressed in a Yankee uniform (go Mets!). Very nice guys. A few more shot-girl shots (please be nice to your local shot-girl, it's a tough transitional gig), a little dancing, and one bathroom break later and I was separated from everyone I was with. The bar was packed and my state was hopeless to do a search and destroy mission to find anyone lingering that I knew.
This is where it goes from bad, to ugly, to worse. I decided to make some lame text attempts at a crashing pad in the city so I didn't have to travel back home to Hoboken (Is it true? The world doesn't revolve around me? Damn). My very good and exceptionally understanding city dwelling friend received the following texts that I sent Thursday night, early that Friday morning:

Sent at 1:02 am:
At Bar None. Can I crash?

(no response)

Sent at 1:25 am:
Nevermind. Going somewher else. Thanksgiving^

(couldn't master the T9word at current state. still, no response)

Sent at 2:07 am:
WTF? You can't get back to me? Good luck with everything.

(classy)

I settled for a less desirable crashing option and called it a (long) day.
The fact that I have my hair, my job, a new gate!, my health, and very good friends, is a solid testament to the fact that I always - even when things seem sort of crappy - feel like the luckiest girl in the world. Maybe not all the synapses in my brain connect all the time - but that is not going to hold me back!
Craig, you said I had to write this down. Here it is. Thanks for falling over laughing when I told you the story.
I love you.
More to come,
Hilary