I dropped my phone down an elevator shaft last night. That tiny little gap between the elevator car itself and the floor. From the 17th floor. And I wasn't even in my own damn apartment building.
Lets start with that day. I had a terrible day at work; Wednesdays are paydays for the field and about 400 people need to be paid weekly. When people don't get paid or don't get paid correctly, they all flip their shit like the biggest divas on Earth the following day. Whatever, I get it, I want my fucking money too, but this particular Thursday everyone was being really rude and really inconsiderate of the fact that I do the work of about 4 separate positions alone.
This TM wanted me to approve this new rep hire asap, but this other rep is wondering about pay from specific events, and still another one wants me to track down payroll cards for like six new rep hires. That's not all, but all day I felt like people were pulling me in every which way and I was not having it. I ran out of the office at 5:00 like someone lit a fire under my skirt.
We had planned to "tailgate" (we tailgate indoors on a balcony) at my best friend G's apartment. G's apartment building has the laziest security squad I have ever witnessed; 99% of the time security just sits behind their little desk doing absolutely nothing but salivating over the ASU hotties that pass by. Since it's game day though, they are checking peoples names at the front door and each resident is only allowed two guests. G tells me to use A's name so she doesn't have to come down and get me. For once the security guard asked me for my id to prove I was A (oops) and so I had to wait for G to come down to get me. He was also an asshole about it, but I digress.
I finally get upstairs to G's apartment and immediately start drinking copious amounts of Blue Edition Red Bull and Tito's Vodka as quickly as possible because I have had a rough day and vodka makes everything better. We head over to G's neighbor's apartment's tailgate where I make the acquaintance of a few new girls I've never met while G has people slapping the bag. I slap the bag too, adding wine to my stomach full of vodka, because that's a fucking genius idea. I believe I am stronger than alcohol, do not try to tell me otherwise.
The next few hours are a blur. H comes over and starts drinking with us; me, the two of them, plus a few of our other guy friends are going from room to room partying with randoms. At some point I distinctly remember running through the crowd outside the stadium screaming "FUCK HER RIGHT IN THE PUSSY!" as loud as we could at the people we ran past. Eventually our drunk asses decide we want tacos from Fuzzy's. This is proof that I was hammered as Fuzzy's has the worst tacos and it is only delicious when intoxicated. I order two tacos (don't remember this) and a bowl of cilantro lime rice and scarf that shit down as soon as my number is called. I immediately begin to consider ordering a second meal. I only remember the eating/slaughtering of my tacos, none of the ordering.
After everyone eats, the rest of the group decides they want to hit Mill Ave. I am the only one who isn't 21 yet, so I take G's keys and head back up to her apartment. I am rapidly sobering up, notice with a little annoyance that THIS time security didn't ask me my name or stop me. Whatever fuck them. I get into the elevator, and as always I start talking to the people riding with me. None of the guys are hot so I'm not too focused on what we were saying, but as I get out on the 17th floor I turned back to say something to one of them. Fate decided I was having too good of a day and that wasn't ok with Fate.
My phone flew from my hand and bounced on either side of that treacherous gap, and I watched it bounce knowing my intoxicated reflexes are worse than a drugged up sloths and there was no way in hell I was gonna grab it before it fell. It slipped into the slit and I heard it clanging around on the way down.
I was in SHOCK. I stood there with my mouth open alternating staring at the gap and the other people in the elevator, who were staring at me with an equal amount of shock and amazement. I'm positive the only reason I didn't cry was because I couldn't have been more shocked if Enrique Iglesias had come twirling down the hall singing "Bailamos". At this point I feel I am so sober I believe I would be able to drive a Mack Truck perfectly. I immediately go back down to the security desk and tell them in a broken, disbelieving voice what just happened. They laughed. Those motherfuckers laughed at me, and then told me it might be like $800 to retrieve it. I responded with, "That is fucking BULLSHIT" and they stopped laughing, but by that point I was done. I had been broken by the elevator, the security assholes, and the knowledge that this whole thing has unbelievable odds but of course it happened to me.
I go back up to G's apartment and grab my shit and leave. I am done. I am so done that I don't realize how drunk I really am until I get in my car and don't even feel comfortable backing my car out of the spot. I then get another wave of sadness because I realize without a car I can't call an Uber, and I don't take regular cabs because of reasons. Too bad, regular cab it is. I got home safe that night and activated my shattered iPhone 4 because not having a phone is too much for me to bear.
As I write this now completely sober, I realized the only reason my phone was even in my hand was because I didn't have pockets. My outfit that night was ON POINT; it was the UCLAvASU Black Out game and I shine in all black. I had on a backless bodysuit and a sequin circle skirt, it was adorable. I might still have my phone if I hadn't been so damn fashionable.
I'd ask you if the outfit was worth it, but the pictures are on my phone at the bottom of the elevator shaft. I think that's what the internet calls irony.
RIP iPHONE 5 (Oct 2012- Sep 2014)
Lets start with that day. I had a terrible day at work; Wednesdays are paydays for the field and about 400 people need to be paid weekly. When people don't get paid or don't get paid correctly, they all flip their shit like the biggest divas on Earth the following day. Whatever, I get it, I want my fucking money too, but this particular Thursday everyone was being really rude and really inconsiderate of the fact that I do the work of about 4 separate positions alone.
This TM wanted me to approve this new rep hire asap, but this other rep is wondering about pay from specific events, and still another one wants me to track down payroll cards for like six new rep hires. That's not all, but all day I felt like people were pulling me in every which way and I was not having it. I ran out of the office at 5:00 like someone lit a fire under my skirt.
We had planned to "tailgate" (we tailgate indoors on a balcony) at my best friend G's apartment. G's apartment building has the laziest security squad I have ever witnessed; 99% of the time security just sits behind their little desk doing absolutely nothing but salivating over the ASU hotties that pass by. Since it's game day though, they are checking peoples names at the front door and each resident is only allowed two guests. G tells me to use A's name so she doesn't have to come down and get me. For once the security guard asked me for my id to prove I was A (oops) and so I had to wait for G to come down to get me. He was also an asshole about it, but I digress.
I finally get upstairs to G's apartment and immediately start drinking copious amounts of Blue Edition Red Bull and Tito's Vodka as quickly as possible because I have had a rough day and vodka makes everything better. We head over to G's neighbor's apartment's tailgate where I make the acquaintance of a few new girls I've never met while G has people slapping the bag. I slap the bag too, adding wine to my stomach full of vodka, because that's a fucking genius idea. I believe I am stronger than alcohol, do not try to tell me otherwise.
The next few hours are a blur. H comes over and starts drinking with us; me, the two of them, plus a few of our other guy friends are going from room to room partying with randoms. At some point I distinctly remember running through the crowd outside the stadium screaming "FUCK HER RIGHT IN THE PUSSY!" as loud as we could at the people we ran past. Eventually our drunk asses decide we want tacos from Fuzzy's. This is proof that I was hammered as Fuzzy's has the worst tacos and it is only delicious when intoxicated. I order two tacos (don't remember this) and a bowl of cilantro lime rice and scarf that shit down as soon as my number is called. I immediately begin to consider ordering a second meal. I only remember the eating/slaughtering of my tacos, none of the ordering.
After everyone eats, the rest of the group decides they want to hit Mill Ave. I am the only one who isn't 21 yet, so I take G's keys and head back up to her apartment. I am rapidly sobering up, notice with a little annoyance that THIS time security didn't ask me my name or stop me. Whatever fuck them. I get into the elevator, and as always I start talking to the people riding with me. None of the guys are hot so I'm not too focused on what we were saying, but as I get out on the 17th floor I turned back to say something to one of them. Fate decided I was having too good of a day and that wasn't ok with Fate.
My phone flew from my hand and bounced on either side of that treacherous gap, and I watched it bounce knowing my intoxicated reflexes are worse than a drugged up sloths and there was no way in hell I was gonna grab it before it fell. It slipped into the slit and I heard it clanging around on the way down.
I was in SHOCK. I stood there with my mouth open alternating staring at the gap and the other people in the elevator, who were staring at me with an equal amount of shock and amazement. I'm positive the only reason I didn't cry was because I couldn't have been more shocked if Enrique Iglesias had come twirling down the hall singing "Bailamos". At this point I feel I am so sober I believe I would be able to drive a Mack Truck perfectly. I immediately go back down to the security desk and tell them in a broken, disbelieving voice what just happened. They laughed. Those motherfuckers laughed at me, and then told me it might be like $800 to retrieve it. I responded with, "That is fucking BULLSHIT" and they stopped laughing, but by that point I was done. I had been broken by the elevator, the security assholes, and the knowledge that this whole thing has unbelievable odds but of course it happened to me.
I go back up to G's apartment and grab my shit and leave. I am done. I am so done that I don't realize how drunk I really am until I get in my car and don't even feel comfortable backing my car out of the spot. I then get another wave of sadness because I realize without a car I can't call an Uber, and I don't take regular cabs because of reasons. Too bad, regular cab it is. I got home safe that night and activated my shattered iPhone 4 because not having a phone is too much for me to bear.
As I write this now completely sober, I realized the only reason my phone was even in my hand was because I didn't have pockets. My outfit that night was ON POINT; it was the UCLAvASU Black Out game and I shine in all black. I had on a backless bodysuit and a sequin circle skirt, it was adorable. I might still have my phone if I hadn't been so damn fashionable.
I'd ask you if the outfit was worth it, but the pictures are on my phone at the bottom of the elevator shaft. I think that's what the internet calls irony.
RIP iPHONE 5 (Oct 2012- Sep 2014)