So I’m sure you all remember how, last November, I attempted to go to an event without actually knowing where it was or having any way of find out? And, not surprisingly, I got caught in a massive rainstorm and failed spectacularly to get there?
Well, you would have thought I’d have learned my lesson from that experience, but you’d be wrong. Because this is what happened tonight:
The plan: My old friend ,a href=”http://scottwilson.ca/scottwilson.ca/News_and_Events/News_and_Events.html”>Scott Wilson was giving a lecture at U of T tonight. He’s visiting from England and while I’ve gone skating and to the opera with him already I really want to hang out and have a beer with him before he goes back home. Since I can’t go to the lecture, I say, “Hey, text me with what bar you’re going to afterwards and I’ll meet you there.” (New music events always end with beer.)
The problem: I put a grant in this morning. This means I am brain dead. Seriously. I cannot remember which version of “your” or “there” to use or do Sudoku and I almost swore in my last lesson. It always wears off in a day or two, but I swear writing a grant takes a good 20 points of my IQ. Which is probably why I…
…left my phone at home.
The new plan: “Not a big deal,” I thought. “I’ll go to the school and see if they’re done yet. If they’re not there I’ll check the usual bars and I should find them.”
Of course, I didn’t know which *room* the lecture was in, and there were no signs or posters up anywhere. So I wandered around for a bit, listening for elecroacoustic music, and when I heard none I figured they were done already and halfway through their first pints.
So I checked the bars that we always went to when I was in school. And I couldn’t find them.
The new plan B: I didn’t have a phone. I didn’t have internet access. I didn’t have any clue where my friends were or any way of finding them. OR DID I?
I had one phone number in my Ipod – not Scott’s, but another friend, Dave Ogborn’s. I had exactly 50 cents, and I knew there was a payphone in the nearest subway station. So I went there and called him…
…and the payphone told me I’d need to deposit an additional $4.40 to complete the call. Because Dave lives in Hamilton, and while he and his phone were somewhere within a square kilometre of where I stood, according to the phone company he was in a different area code, and thus long distance.
I didn’t have $4.40 in change.
The new plan c: At this point I was like, “Really? Really, universe? Are you really this much of an asshole?” and also “Really? Really, self? Are you really this much of a moron?”
But I wasn’t ready to give up. I could still try to reach someone by Twitter, if I could find a wifi spot. So I walked out of the station and found an unprotected network in front of a condo. I checked Twitter and Facebook and sent tweets to my friends.
By now it was past ten. I was tired, cold, somewhat sheepish, and oppressed by the futility of life. I had waited about ten minutes to see if anyone responded to my tweets when…
…the doorman of the condo said, “Hey, you. Move along.”
I don’t know if he thought I was homeless or just suspicious or if he highly disapproves of wifi stealing. But I was in no condition to argue. I gave up. I went home.
And you know what makes this long, sad, idiotic story EXACTLY like the long, sad, idiotic story from November?
In both cases I was actually at the place I was trying to get to but in the wrong place/wrong time. I actually tried the doors at the church I was supposed to go to in November. They were locked, and I figured it wasn’t the right place, because I didn’t know you were supposed to go around and use the side door. Tonight I actually went to the bar they were at (still are at, most likely), but I think I was there a few minutes before they got there and they all arrived while I was in the bar across the street.
Anyway. This time I swear I will learn my lesson. Which is:
– know where you’re going when you leave the house; and
– bring your phone, you nitwit.