18 dummy...

My calves still hurt. Yesterday I went to the UC Berkeley Charter Day event at Fort Mason in SF. For those who are familiar with this place knwo that parking is pretty much non-existent, so you could imagine what it was like to walk nearly a mile in 4 inch heels. By the end of the night, I was walking like Kevin Spacey in the “Usual Suspects”… only my walk didn’t straighten up as the scene faded to black.
These events are always funny to me… everyone dresses up to the nines to rub elbows, fatten up on dainty dinners, and get toasted on the rivers of wine and champagne that flows from the hands of servers they don’t even bother to look in the eye and/or say thank you too. I had a mix of emotions while I was there:
I cursed Steve Madden over and over again as I tried to Top Model walk to the venue.
I felt like a sell-out when I passed by the Union members protesting for fairer wages – everyone that pulled up in their cars were quickly ushered in – almost as if to shield people of the ugly truth about how the very people that build up this beacon of education are overlooked and underappreciated. *sigh*

As I walked in, I was greeted by one of the servers with a glass of white wine. “Hello beautiful! Welcome! I’m new in town and I…” He got quickly pulled away by one of the coordinators – I guess for being a bit TOO social… go figure.
After I took a swig, I checked in, put on my badge, and put on my game face – “the my feet are killing me and I’ll attempt to network” game face. An indicator of what the night was gonna be like for me was when I found a table to lean on and noticed that the beautiful Mexican bling bracelet my homie MJ got me was missing… *sigh*. That thing had been giving me problems all night long, as the clasp wouldn’t stay closed. I had just walked nearly a mile, uttering “f*ck you Steve Madden!” over and over again, in the drizzling rain no less, and now my bling was gone. I tried to retrace my steps as best as I could, as I was hopeful that the bling was indoors – “please Lord let it be inside!” “Oh honey, what are you looking for?” a soft kind voice said to me. “I lost my bracelet and I’m trying to retrace my steps.” “What does it look like honey?” I described it to her as best as I could – it’s a beautiful piece of jewelry, but it’s one of those pieces that priceless, because it came from someone that is really dear to you… know what I mean? “Well honey, you should go to the Courtesy Desk and ask them to keep an eye out for it. The bracelet sounds really beautiful; I hope you find it honey.” I thanked the woman for her kindness, but I felt like I cheated her somehow. I guess I was kinda caught off guard… someone at a high class event being nice to me??? Ok, where’s Alan Funt and the camera’s cuz I just got punked, right?
As the night went on, I continued to drown my sorrows in Gallo wines and tasty a devours, and chat here in there with some pretty cool folks – alums from the 50’s, 70’s, current students.
“Katherine… class of… 2001” muttered a gentleman that was trying to read my name tag (note to self, be cautious of where you place your name tag if you are wearing strapless outfit to an event that’s not well lit). I sincerely questioned if he was really interested in getting to know me and/or check out my boobs. “I’m blah, blah, blah…. Class of 1972.” We chatted a bit about our majors before the announcer belted over the loud speakers that it was time to take our seats at the dinner tables. Yay! I could finally get to take my shoes off on the sneak tip… and get more wine… dope.

The rest of the night was filled with inspiring stories, bad jokes, long speeches, gourmet food, jokes in my head about the shit people really didn’t need to have on, etc.

As the event ended, I made my way back to the courtesy table, with the hopes that they found the Mexican bling… no such luck. They took down my name and number, and said that they if they found it, they would hit me up. At this point, my buzz was beginning to wear off and the bummed feeling began to consume me again. As I walked away from the table, I looked down and noticed my purse was open… everything was there, except my celly-cell… when it rains it pours! Now I had to walk back across what was now a dance floor, back to the dinning area to look for a black cell phone, on a black floor. Good luck sista! I felt like such an idiot looking under table cloths, hoping that it didn’t get pulverized… even though it’s a material item, I swear I felt naked and vulnerable without it… sad huh? I asked one of the servers if she had seen it or who I should ask about keeping an eye out for it… she told me that they didn’t break down everything and that I would have to wait until 3am. Bitch, are you serious???? She was clearly being a jerk, so I had to go back to plan A… look for myself. “What’s wrong?” another kind voice asked. I told her I lost my cell phone. “What’s your number, I’ll call it.” “It just want to voice mail…. Honey, she lost her cell phone.” “Oh, ask to speak with the catering coordinator, they can alert their staff to look out for it. We hope you find it.” I thanked them both, but again, and again, I felt like I cheated them… *sigh*. I continued to kick myself until I found a server that was much more polite than the first. She took me to other servers and asked them to keep an eye out for it, as well as took me to the catering coordinator… she was really bending over backwards to help me. “Oh honey, I hope you find it.” That was the mantra of the evening.

Again I put on my gumshoes and retraced my steps and walked back towards the courtesy table… past the dance floor, in which I heard the singer ask the audience if they were ready to get “crunk” before she launched into Mary J’s “Family Affair” – I laughed on the inside and outside at the same time. When I got back to the table – “There you are! We tried calling you! We found your bracelet!.” Yay, but now I lost my phone… *sigh*.
When I looked down, I saw something flashing under the table… it was my phone! YAY, all was good in the world!!! I was now free to go out in the rain and cuss out Steve Madden all over again. Before I left, I thanked the folks that helped my find my shit… this time I didn’t feel some empty afterwards… I felt complete… not only cuz I got my stuff back, but because it was good to see that some sincerity still exist in the world, even in places you don’t expect to find it.

So the moral(s) to this long story is(are):
Prejudgment causes you to put up unnecessary bridges, so just let go!
Alcohol makes things all better.
Don’t wear Steve Madden’s when you have to walk a mile -- “f*ck you Steve Madden.”
The end.