A few weeks ago, my transit card kicked it. It’d served me well, taken me all over the city — concerts, dates, shopping, trips to the zoo, and countless cupcakes… But the past few months, the card had, well… it was finicky about working. Some times it decided it liked the Ashland bus, but not the Clark bus. Or that it didn’t want to do transfers.
The card was being a little jerk, and eventually — the day I was traveling an hour an half one way out to sign my lease — it just gave up. So I went downtown and got a new one. No biggie right?
Anyway… fast forward to Sunday evening. The end of a long and stress retail weekend. So my manager finally made good on his offer for drinks, and we went to our favorite pub. My favorite bartender was working that night. Drinks and small talk commenced.
My manager bought me one of those fruity beer things — wasn’t amazing, but yeah, I wouldn’t have paid to try it on my own tab. Our bartender poured a round of SoCo & Lime… belated birthday shots. Then my manager decided to introduce me to one of his favorite shots — Goldschlager & Tabasco. Fruity beer done, I went on to a cider. (My manager, way drunk off his 3 rum & cokes and 2 shots, left for home.) The bartender and I keep chatting… he poured another shot for us. No idea what was in it other than Bombay Sapphire.
Now, the Ex-Hubby had invited me over for dinner… so I made my way to the bus, using my new transit card. I got off to make the transfer… drunk dialed my brother… sat in something gross… meandered to a Wendy’s to clean up… then when I got back to the bus stop I realized I didn’t have my new transit card. And I didn’t remember having it in the bathroom. Or when my I called my brother.
So I ended the night with a bit too much alcohol, a date with the bartender, no cta card, cuddling with a boy and his pup (oh goodness, the Ex-Hubby’s pup deserves her own post), a great meal, and maybe some awkward texting. Yep. That’s how I do things, apparently.