mazel tov, continued


The snow was the biggest problem with the wedding on Saturday. It started around ten in the morning, and kept going for most of the day. It was pretty, but rather a treacherous pain to drive in. It didn’t help that we live on the northeastern side of the city, and the church was allllll the way down on the south/southeastern side of the city, and then the reception was on the west side.

We must’ve passed about ten different accidents on the way to the church. People were either driving waaaay too slow for the snow, or waaaaay too fast. It’s ridiculous. If people were reasonable and careful, a lot of the slip sliding around could be avoided. Bah.

Anyway, we made it to the church in one piece, and only half an hour late! Go us! (Keep in mind, the drive should’ve taken about thirty five minutes and instead took over an hour.)

There were more priests on that altar during that Mass than I have ever seen in one place in my entire life. Including at my own confirmation (at which the Bishop counts as at least three). This probably has something to do with the fact that my cousin spent five years in Seminary before deciding that the priesthood is not for him.

The drive from the church (in the middle of nowhere) to Martin’s West (halfway back from the middle of nowhere but in the opposite direction) where the reception was held took even longer than the drive down. The weather was frightful, and none of the roads had been plowed. At least, they didn’t look as though they’d been plowed.

The food was delightful at the reception, but goddamn was there a lot of it. We had a good time. Half of our table hadn’t been able to make it, because they all live on the Eastern shore. There was an open bar (unfortunately it was all rail drinks).

I went to go get my coat from coat check at the end of the night. It was late, I’d been running around all damn day, and I was tired. I also didn’t have my coat check ticket because I’d left it on the table when we first sat down and it disappeared.

“Why did they take your coat check ticket?” My mother asked.
“I don’t know! They took Matt’s knife halfway through the meal too! Obviously they just grab whatever shit they can get their hands on!”

I told the coat check person, and she looked me dead in the eye and said “Oh we can’t give you your coat without a ticket.”

“Excuse me? It’s that one right there.”

“We’d have to call a manager. We can’t give someone a coat without a ticket.”

“I need my coat.”

“We’d have to call a manager.”

“Then. Call. A. Manager.”

Seriously, folks? Don’t keep telling me that you can’t give me my coat. I can’t magically produce my ticket BECAUSE THE WAIT STAFF TOOK IT. I’m not just telling you these things to give you a hard time, so don’t be such a fucking moron about it. Call the goddamn manager.

About ten minutes later, he finally showed up. They explained to him that I no longer had my ticket because the wait staff had taken it during the dinner. “Well, she’ll have to wait until everyone else has collected their coats.”

At this point, the coat check wonder duo explained that there was another party going on that lasted a further two hours. And the manager sighed. I about saw red.

My lovely little brother stepped in at this point, perhaps sensing that in my frustration I was about to a) start crying or b) scratch somebody’s eyes out. “Is there any way she can identify the coat as hers? I mean, she can tell you what’s in all the pockets. She can tell you what brand it is.”

The manager sighed again and nodded. I stepped up to the counter and explained where precisely he could find my house key and what it looked like. Thank god I keep that stupid key in that stupid inner pocket. He took the coat off the rack and asked me, several times, if I was absolutely sure that was indeed my own coat. He explained that they’d done this before only to find out that the wrong person had taken a coat and driven all the way home to Pennsylvania. I pointed out that he’d just pulled my house key out of the pocket I’d told him it would be in.

So, yeah, that was a bit of a trial. Which isn’t to say that I disagree with the policy. You don’t want to leave your coat in coat check only to come back and find it’s been given to some random dude off the street. So I understand it. I even agree with it. I just wasn’t in any mood to deal with it calmly and rationally Saturday night. Yes, this probably makes me an entitled-acting bitch, but I was severely cranky at the time. Like, four year old who hasn’t had their afternoon nap cranky. Not my finest moment, perhaps, but we all have them sometimes.

I will note that I never raised my voice or cursed at any of those people, however.


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