You always know its going to be a good day when you’re woken up by the muddled blend of static and Evanescence’s “My Immortal.” I sat up in bed, more exhausted than usual, and slapped my alarm with enough force to warrant a restraining order. “Maybe its because I haven’t gotten up early in a while,” I thought. Alex had been in town so my weekly routine was out of whack. Drearily, I dragged myself out of bed and into the shower. Proceeding through my morning rituals, I sleepily got dressed and ate breakfast. Stumbling down to the car, I turned on the ignition and was on my way.
After a precisely calculated 30 minute drive in rush hour traffic, I arrived at my destination and parked in my usual spot. Looking at my phone to pat myself on the back for punctuality points, I realized that it was 9:30AM…not 10AM, when I’m supposed to arrive. I had apparently set my alarm a half hour earlier than necessary, preventing my dream of a paid internship from concluding itself. “Okay,” I thought, “well I’ll just use the extra half hour to nap in my car before heading in.” The sticky heat and blaring sun had other plans for me. I got out of my car in hopes that maybe someone showed up early and I could get started with my day. With a quivering hand, I reach for the door knob, hoping anxiously that it was unlocked. It was! I pushed the door open to find an abandoned room with nothing but a skateboard deck bolted to the wall. It was completely empty. I did a legitimate double-take, which cleared absolutely nothing up. The next obvious step would be to call one’s boss. And I did. It went straight to voicemail. I called again, in hopes that maybe he was calling me at the same time to say “April Fools” and remove the invisibility cloak from the office furniture. But alas, voicemail. I tried to reach the interns, but none of them were answering. I emailed everyone, asking what was going on. By this point I was sitting outside on the patio, pinching myself in attempts to wake up from this nightmare-ish dream.
Finally one of the interns texted back, “They moved offices a few doors down.” I bundled together my things and made the trek back inside, only to find every door locked without a hint of human life coming from the cracks beneath any of them. Back to the patio. After an hour, another intern replied to an email I sent letting me know that my boss was on a plane from New York and wouldn’t be back till noon. It was 11AM. I’ve apparently yet to gain enough respect to be made aware of cross country trips and location changes.
There was no way to reach the jetsetter in the sky so I had to make an executive decision. Once again, I gathered my bags and headed back to my car.
In a couple weeks, I’ll be going to a cousin’s wedding, and I still needed a dress. Usually incredibly stubborn about driving long distances in traffic, it was a miracle that I convinced myself to head to the Beverly Center. Moreover, there’s no place I would rather be less than a mall for any given increment of time.
On my way out, I passed the LA Gun Club. I probably should have gone there to release some of my frustration, but opted out for fear that I might hijack the gun and use it on the people I deliver coffee to. As I passed, I felt a drop of sweat roll down my forehead and pushed up my sleeves. I’m convinced that the building in which I intern was previously used as a habitat for penguins and polar bears, because the temperature is always below freezing. Unfortunately (and quite logically), I left all of my winter gear in Boston, so my wardrobe options are limited and often repeated on a weekly basis. In my long-sleeved shirt, jeans, and Keds, I sat in my air-conditionless, pleather-seated Volvo for 40 minutes before arriving at the mall, sweaty and frazzled. Then came the daunting task of situating myself in this monstrosity of a structure.
Frantically I searched for what I expected to be an easy find: a simple cocktail dress. A few overpriced stores later, I was fairly distraught. In a dressing room, I indignantly hung up the dresses that would only work if I were an Armenian stripper, and proceeded to put my winter clothes back on. I put my shirt on, and then my shoes. Picking up my jeans, it took me a minute to realize that pants usually come before shoes.
The next store didn’t offer me a cocktail dress, but I found a decent sundress that I probably didn’t need. After conversing with myself in the cubicle for a moment or so, I decided I’d buy it. Again, I redressed, this time, putting on the dress I had just made the decision to purchase instead of my own clothes. Looking in the mirror, it took me longer this time to figure out what was wrong with the picture I saw.
An hour or so passed and I found myself in yet another dressing room with a dress that might have potentially satisfied my need. But I couldn’t decide. Thinking about whether it was the right dress or not, I threw my shirt, pants, and shoes on, in the right order this time. Reaching for my purse, I saw my bra strewn atop it. “Oh yeah, that,” I thought. After readjusting, I put the dress on hold in pursuit of shoes that might match the look.
Inside of Steve Madden, I found patent leather, magenta platform stilettos with an ostentatious shiny bow at the front. I asked the sales woman for my size, looking at the price after she walked away. The three numbers after the dollar sign were not what I had hoped they’d be, but I figured it would at least be fun to try the shoes on. She brought them to me and walked away, which is probably what I should have done as well. With a dropped jaw angled toward the magnificent shoes I beheld, I slipped them on and stood up…but not for long. After a slight shift in body weight, I lost my balance and fell forward on to the rack of strappy sandals in front of me, catching myself on the unstable shelving. Regaining my balance and composure with one hand on the mirror and the other on the sandal shelf, I looked around to check if anyone had noticed my awkward spill. After deciding that the pregnant woman picking her nose was my only witness, I quickly removed the stilettos and slipped back into my comfortable Keds. After this extravaganza, I was unwilling to try on any more high heels, so I logically gave up on the dress. Back to square one.
Only then did my fresh-off-the-plane boss call to nonchalantly tell me to come to the office at 1:45PM. It was 1PM. I was still dress-less. After a quick chat with Grandma, I felt pressured to find something before abandoning ship and heading back to the life of the unpaid intern. In practical hysterics, I power-walked a few more laps around the mall, which most likely looked to outsiders like I was searching for a lost child. Eventually, I splurged – well, Grandma splurged – on a pricey little number that’ll do the trick just fine. I hurried back to my sweltering Volvo and booked it out of there by 1:47PM only to sit in traffic yet again as I trekked back Downtown. From that point forward, the day worked itself out, coming to a close with my debut appearance at a Korean Barbeque joint since New York’s catastrophe. Castle Barbeque had a B rating, but that’s better than nothing!
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