Lost and Found

I always choose the classy ones.

This story if from Roxie, a 22-year-old grad student in Boston, as told to Raz:

Andrew and I had gone out a few times, but hadn’t slept together yet. On Halloween, he invited me to a party his friends were having at a bar. I wore a little black dress, a Cat Woman mask and sky-high heels that were near impossible to walk in. We had a great time, although by the billionth tequila shot, I was feeling a little drunker than I generally care to be. We spent most of our night on the dance floor, and the sexual tension was intense. Finally he asked, “Want to head back to my place?”

“Yes please,” I said.

“My car’s right around the corner.”

“Wait, you drove?” I asked. “Do you think that’s such a good idea?” I knew I wouldn’t trust myself behind the wheel right now.

“I haven’t had a drink in hours,” he said. Was that true? “And I live really close to here.”

The drive was quick and crash free (thank God), and he lived in a residential neighborhood I’d never seen before. We started making out as soon as we hit his bedroom. But as I went to take off his shirt, his throat made that “Look out, I’m about to throw up on you” noise.

“Are you OK?” I asked.

“I’m fine,” he said. We kissed. “I just might need to throw up.”

He ran to the bathroom, where he stayed for 15 minutes. Should I leave or wait around? I wasn’t sure. When he finally emerged, he crawled back into bed and went in for the kiss. I obviously pulled away.

“What? I didn’t throw up!” he said. As if the words had triggered something inside of him, he bolted back to the bathroom. He came back out just as I was going through his bedroom door, and didn’t even comment on the fact that I was leaving without saying goodbye. By the time I got to the front door, I could hear him snoring.

When I got outside, it was freezing, my feet were killing me and I realized I had no idea where I was. I reached into my purse to call a cab. My phone wasn’t there. It must have fallen out of my bag during our night of debauchery! Panic set in. After a few deep breaths, I decided to walk until I hit a major intersection and then hail a cab. I kicked off my painful shoes to make the trek. So… there I was walking down an unknown road barefoot, in a mini dress, a little bit drunk and with no phone. I was so nervous that I pulled out my chapstick and started talking into it as if it were a phone, “I’m almost there,” I said into the cap. “You could probably see me if you looked out your window.” No one would attack me now! After about ten minutes, with no major street in sight, I was feeling more hopeless and lost than ever, and I hadn’t seen a soul.

OK, I thought, I’ll just head back to Andrew’s place, get in bed with him, and figure it out in the morning. But when I got back to his house, the front door was locked. I knocked and knocked, but he was out cold. This is when I started to cry. I was literally going to have to sleep on his front porch.

Then, I had an epiphany. Maybe he was so drunk that he didn’t lock his car! I could at least sleep in there. But I had no recollection of what his car looked like. I went down the line of cars parked in front of his house, trying car doors and praying for a miracle. Hallelujah! One popped open, and (you’ll never believe it) sitting on the passenger seat was my beautiful phone.

When I called and woke up my roommate, she could barely make out my explanation through the sobs. But I gave her the intersection, and, thanks to her trusty GPS, she found me.

Oh yeah, and I never saw Andrew again.