rock out with your lock out

long story short, i'm a shit show.

...

what? you want details?


as most of you dear readers know, i can't keep track of anything material. over the course of my years at stanford i've lost 3 bikes, a bajillion pairs of cheap sunglasses, one nice pair of real glasses, a couch, a fancy office chair and at least one set of keys. i am fully aware that my absent-minded tendencies are damaging, and i sometimes go to great lengths to mitigate their effects. sometimes, when i know i have to try especially hard to remember something, i (literally) put a post-it note with whatever it is i have to remember on my face. this is usually an effective, albeit self-degrading, strategy.

unfortunately, however, most of the time i'm not particularly proactive about remembering little things. yesterday when i was saying bye to J., i managed to exit my apartment without my keys. lucky for me, N. was still up and after a convoluted process of reaching her, i re-entered my apartment relatively unscathed.

during the fifteen minutes or so that i sat atop the concrete staircase leading up to my apartment, i thought back to the many significantly worse lock outs i'd endured over the past few years. one lock-out i'll never forget happened midway through my term at oxford. N. and i were lucky enough to have a room with an almost-adjoining bathroom, so when i went to shower, i typically didn't bring a change of clothes with me. naturally, this proved disastrous when i forgot my keys. sopping wet and struggling to keep myself covered with an under-sized british towel, i peaked out from door stops and tried to inconspicuously attract the attention of someone who could either clothe me or get me back in my room. it took a good 30 minutes of stealthy-near-naked, "help me's" before J.K. came to my rescue (as she always did that quarter) and offered me clothes.
the oxford near-naked lock-out, believe it or not, is not the worst nor the most awkward of my lock-out stories. the worst, i'd have to say happened last spring the night of stanford's most infamous party: exotic erotic.
because there aren't nearly enough excuses to dress like a ho on a day to day basis, i tried to take advantage of the opportunity exotic erotic afforded me. don't worry, innocent reader, i was wearing plenty of clothes. those clothes just happened to be a little black slip... after meeting up with S.A. and Ja.B. after the haus mitt special dinner (and downing, in less than a minute, a vodka-vodka-vodka cranberry), a group of us headed over to 680 to partake in the craziness of the party. as always, the party was really crowded and sweaty. in a drunken, and somewhat ill-planned attempt to escape the masses of exposed skin, Ja.B, S.A., and i decided to meet up with D.S. at what he claimed would be a happy bonfire get-together.
when we approached the fire pit near lake lag, however, were were greeted by a crowd of PA highschoolers dressed up in fake bling. apparently D.S.'s baby brother decided to invite all of pali-high. after being hit on my under-aged boys wearing oversized, plastic-metallic dollar signs, it dawned on me that i was still wearing my rather scandalous attire (no wonder the 16 year olds were talking to me). upon realizing my shame, i demanded to go home to bob.
once i got back to my room in bob, i happily took of my heels, put on some flip-flops and headed to the bathroom to brush my teeth (still wearing only the slip). when i returned to my room, my door was closed, and when i reached to open it, i discovered that it was locked. again, wearing far too little clothes, i crouched beside my locked room trying to think of a plan on how to get back inside. it was 4am, and no one in the house was around. as the alcohol wore off, i realized it was freaking cold. after pacing around the halls in bob for an hour or so, i decided the only proper solution was to break into my own car to sleep, which i did. when i got up the next morning, i realized i'd have to walk back through my house, past lots of judgmental stares, wearing only my slip. i did so, and was still locked out (now that's what i call a walk of shame). one way or another, i eventually got back inside my room and lived happily ever after (with clothes)
remembering moments like these makes me think i should have some sort of electronic implant that functions as a key to whatever buildings or cars i need to use. when N. let me in last night, she shook her head, unsurprised by yet another instance of my shit-showiness. one can only hope that someday such technologies as implantable keys come to the rescue of poor, forgetful souls like me.