Well, folks...not much new in IVF: The Sequel. Oh, well...except my big box o' expensive fertility meds arrived...to a lot less fanfare than the first time around. Luckily, I had one box of Follistim left over from the first cycle, which saved me about $600 this time around. A small dent, but a dent nonetheless.
Instead, I'd thought I would recount one of my favorite When Sarah Does Stupid Things stories. The impetus for sharing this story is because I drove past the Wal-marts tonight. I haven't been in a Wal-mart in probably two years...just a personal preference for Target. And something about the florescent lighting makes me ill. Anywho...when driving by, I recalled this particular story that as you might have guessed, takes place at Walmart.
It was about nine years ago when Nick and I were in school at Mizzou...we had been dating for about six months and Nick was accompanying me on a trip to the Wal-marts to pick up some photos I'd had developed (this was in the days when we developed FILM and had envelope upon envelope of random pictures around...not like today when all of my photos are just sitting in files on my laptop...again, I digress).
So, I pick up the photos from the counter and Nick and I walk out to my car. It's important that you know at this point that I had been experiencing difficulty with my 1994 Saturn SL1's ignition and locks. So, when I put my key in the door lock (oh, yeah - no keyless entry...old school, baby!) and it wouldn't move, I was a little perplexed but not entirely surprised. I continued to try and force the key to open the car, but to no avail. I tried the passenger side...no luck. Nick and I alternately jimmy, pound and smack the door, window and locks hoping to get in. But again...no luck.
As luck would have it (or so I thought) the driver side window was slightly cracked. So, no problem...Nick tells me...why don't we just go into the Wal-marts and get ourselves a wire hanger (soon, I will be bringing new meaning to No More Wire HANGERS!) and jimmy the lock open. He said it with such authority and confidence, I had no choice but to believe him. (Also, as you'll recall, this was 6 months into our relationship and I wasn't really at the point yet where I doubted all of his ideas. That came later. You understand.) I rejoiced and thanked my lucky stars for such a genius boyfriend.
As we turned to walk in the Wal-marts, for some reason I thought...Wow...this envelope of photos is really annoying. I do not want to carry it any longer. I shall wedge it into the open car window and leave it in the car. Brilliant! Now my hands are free and I can proceed with the task. Five minutes later, we have returned with a wire hanger and Nick expertly MacGyvers the sh*t out of said hanger into what we hoped would be our salvation.
I bet you're wondering...well, this doesn't sound stupid at all. In fact, it sounds like a totally reasonable and effective way to deal with the situation. You should be applauded for your ability to behave like a rational, calm adult in the face of adversity.
And you'd be right...if the car that we were trying to break into WAS ACTUALLY MINE.
I happened to look inside the car and notice...that the interior was not the same color as the interior of my car.
As it turns out, there was another gray 1994 Saturn SL1 in the parking lot and for reason only God knows, the driver of said car did not walk outside to the parking lot of the Wal-Marts to find two college kids trying to break into the car in BROAD DAYLIGHT.
My reaction is exactly what you'd expect...I ran like my life depended on it to my ACTUAL car which was one row over and further back in the lot. Once safely ensconced in my car, I started giggling...and then laughing...and then Nick got in the car and we both lost it in complete hysterics. You see, at this point we were too stupid to realize my fatal mistake...
The pictures I had shoved through a one inch opening in the other car's window, which were now sitting in that car's driver seat. Nick insisted that I wait and just explain the situation to the owner and request the photos. And I said...hells no. There is no scenario in which I do not sound like a crazy person in this situation.
So, we left, tears streaming down our face and me red-faced both of embarrassment and from laughing. The next week, I returned and instead of asking the attendant if anyone had turned in the photos (so that I didn't have to pay for them again), I quietly inquired about whether there were any photos ready for me and when the attendant put the familiar looking envelope in front of me, I felt no shame in buying them...again.
It still makes me giggle to think of the owner of the other Saturn opening their car and finding a mysterious packet of photos...like, I wonder if they thought they had a secret admirer? Or a stalker? Maybe who takes a lot of pictures with her friends where they appear to be drunk (but obviously they weren't because that wouldn't be responsible)? What's the thought process here? One of life's great mysteries...
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