Goodbye Flashlight

Three day weekends are always too short. When a holiday extends the free time, there’s a strong desire to pack as much into that precious time, that the end result seems shorter than the typical weekend. I had planned to visit the American Museum of Natural History twice, but I could only make it once. A large chunk of my time was lost because of a stupid drunk girl.

I went to an apartment party on Saturday night that a friend hosted in celebration of her recent birthday. I had a great time and even had the opportunity to be the center of attention for a period of time, telling tales of the ridiculousness I’ve seen in my nearly thirty-eight years. I rarely take center stage among strangers, but I felt comfortable at this party, and I was encouraged by my friend, Jon. He took his turns making the group laugh as well.

There was once exception pleasantness: the afore-mentioned stupid drunk girl. She showed up half-drunk, and then more than finished her trip to inebriation within two hours. When she reached the point where she could barely stand, she leaned into me where I sat at the kitchen table, tried to kiss me, slapped me, and tried to kiss me again. I was shocked and repulsed, mostly because I was afraid she was going to throw up on me. Luckily she didn’t.

Eventually, the bottles of alcohol disappeared, and she convinced the two guys she arrived with to go to a gay bar up the street. I was happy to know she was leaving. I did not look for her to say goodbye.

My friends and I waited another hour before leaving, and were held up by what we later learned to be the fault of stupid drunk girl. She took my coat instead of her own. Of course it was a simple mistake. Her coat looks nothing like my own.

We were able to get her phone number from one of her friends, and attempted to reach her several times that night and the next morning, only to be immediately diverted to her voicemail, a barely-audible recording of “Stewie” from Family Guy. It wasn’t until mid-afternoon that we finally reached her and I was able to make it across town in the cold to retrieve my coat. When I checked the pockets, my $100 flashlight was missing.

Previously in the day I had left the AMNH early because I couldn’t bear the rudeness of the children who think nothing of walking in between me and the text of the displays, even though they see that I’m trying to read the information. One kid looked at me and willfully moved in front of me to block my view, another stepped on my foot to come between me and a display because he wanted to walk along the edge of the diorama, but I had planted myself to deter the little rats from blocking my view.

By the time I found my coat missing, and finally my flashlight lost, I was furious at the lack of consideration that I have to deal with daily. My roommate is one of the most inconsiderate people I’ve ever met, so it really is daily. I miss the days when manners were taught. I miss the days when people took responsibility for their actions and parents took responsibility for their children. As Willie Nelson once sang (sic.), “Mamas don’t let your babies grow up to be boneheads.”