You know those times where the thought “I wonder if I’m going to die tonight” crosses your mind? Well, last night was one of those nights. And, before everyone freaks out in fear for my safety, just remember that I’m safe now! I’m alive! It all worked out. So, with that being said, here’s how it all went down: A night to remember.
Let’s start with some history. Spencer has a boyfriend. His name is Andrew. He’s in a band. The band’s called Hundredth. You probably wouldn’t like them.
So, Hundredth is starting a new leg of their tour and it stared last night in Columbia, SC which just so happens to be about two and half hours away. And because Thursday is actually our Friday here in Savannah (because we have no classes on Friday) we all decided it was high time for the first Winter quarter ROAD TRIP!!!
We headed out for Columbia in the afternoon after all our classes were done (like responsible jr. adults).
Just Look at our faces. So innocent. So unsuspecting. So unprepared for the road.
Like I said, the main reason we went to Columbia was for Chipot– Hundredth. We went for Hundredth. But wait– is that a burrito bowl I smell? Hold on! I had no idea there was a Chipotle here! Nope…no idea whatsoever. Carnitas with extra corn salsa? Don’t mind if I do. So we made like a burrito and were stuffed right before heading to the show.
We had been warned about this concert. The crowd, the venue, the music had all been extensively explained by Spencer and Andrew for quite a while. These were the people in high school who I was afraid to make eye contact with, the people who’s pitbulls would scare me half to death when I’d find myself a little bit too far into East Side Costa Mesa, the people who light stuff on fire…because they freaking can.
We walked in and promptly got our hands stamped and then headed to the back because “We’re with the band.” I felt pretty cool. And even though we stuck out like a sore thumb with my J. Crew blouse and knit scarves, I felt as though the facade of these intensely intimidated underground fans quickly disappeared when I saw some of them nearly crying while screaming the words of the songs. Fools.
After the show, we headed next door to the most lovely little coffee shop. (Wondering when things get bad? Just wait.) I enjoyed a delicious cup of vanilla tea with honey as we chatted and observed the amazingly tacky art for sale on the walls. Can you believe they wanted to charge 80 bucks for that crappy little vase on the shelf? Come on, now.
So we hung out at the coffee shop for quite a while. Still in good moods. And as we headed out to the car, we even had the arrogance to take our time and stage a mini little alley photo shoot. And this is when things started to turn for the worst.
“Taking silly pictures for 15 minutes? Sure! We’ve got time!” And when it was done,”…Alright, that was fun. Let’s head over to the car…”
“…Wait…Where is the car? That ‘No Parking’ sign in front of the other parking spot definitely didn’t include our car, did it?! Oh. Yes. Yes it did.” And after we realized that the car had in fact been towed at 10:30 at night, it was time to step into High Gear Responsible Adult Mode….or maybe Poor Art Student Begging Mode. First Spencer tried her hand at him and then Andrew talked to the tow truck man on the phone for nearly 40 minutes and thoroughly explained to him that the sign was NOT in front of our car, but nothing seemed to sway this man.
We even talked to a cop who was patrolling the area and even though he stood directly in front of the parking spot and agreed that the sign did not apply to that space, there was just simply “Nothing he could do about it.” Seriously?
At 11:30 and 24 degrees out, we drove in the band’s bus to the lot to pick up Spencer’s car. Despite our valiant efforts to persuade this grumpy old man in any way possible (we may or may not have taken off our scarves sway him with a little feminine intervention) it was clear that Spencer would have to just shell out the $125 dollar fee to be on our way. Rough.
So, then it was goodbye Andrew, goodbye band and at around midnight, we filled up with gas and hit the road.
Then things got worse. Not twenty minutes into the drive the most peculiar light comes on the dashboard. Low tire pressure. Cool. Good thing Spencer carries a tire pressure gauge in her purse. But, after 4 gas stations, we finally found one with a working air pump to boost the tires up. Geesh.
This was about the time when I started to wonder if I ever would make it back to Savannah. What else in the world could go wrong tonight? I started to come to terms with the fact that our fun little day trip to Columbia might soon be the newest headline on 20/20 the next Friday. “Four young, vivaciously innocent college girls head out to concert only to be massacred by the road. No alcohol was involved. Just a crabby old tow truck man and faulty Jeep led to their demise.” Sad but true. So in order to feel less out of control of the situation at hand, I decided to take the wheel. And one by one as all my wing-ladies slowly fell asleep in the car, it was clear that for the rest of the road to Savannah it was just going to be me, the radio and our trusty Tom Tom. And away we rode.
Eventually clocking into Savannah at 2:46 and 20 degrees, I’ve never been so glad to see Turner. As we got out of the car and headed to our rooms, replaying the nights ridiculous events, we all couldn’t help but laugh at the complete batty-ness that had ensued. Call it slap happiness, call it the giggles, call it the intense cold paralyzing my basic motor skills, call it whatever you want– all I know is that I could barely walk I was laughing so hard.
And as harried as some moments got, I would repeat it in a heartbeat.
What else is college for than regretful decisions that end in legendary memories?