Falling...

Because things are never quite normal.
Because we are defined by our mistakes.
Because our karma ran out.
Because it's us...

Telephone call, early Friday evening. Elise, stranded at work, "I'm so sorry... would you mind picking me up at seven downtown? I'm so sorry!"

a) Elise, stop apologizing. We're family.
b) Of course I'll come get you! See you at seven.

Puttered off around 6:45, the dusk having settled into darkness on the Indianapolis horizon and the weekend hum just starting to kick into the city. Chatting with Reefer on the phone. Winding in a slow spin around Monument Circle, craftily eyeing parking possibilities. Hurrah! Vacant spot directly in front of Hilbert Theatre! Sign: 2 Hour Parking, except between hours of 11 pm and 6 am.

Me: Do you think I can park here?
Reef: Oh, I'm sure it's fine.

Park and strut to salon, the prance of high heels being an operative concept on a Friday night downtown... inspire confidence, set energy, avoid sidewalk cracks. Ascend elevator into fantastic art deco buiding - black marble, gold metallic figurines, oddly comforting "ding" of elevator command button. Enter Studio 2000. Lights dim, array of new age painted walls and mirrors, product, product, and more product. Elise, receptionist extraordinaire, busying the time with end-of-day tasks. Middle aged woman in downy elementary-school-teacher-style winter coat enjoying last of her manicure by stylist with chestnut brown pixie cut. Sounds of final client in hair station just around corner from waiting area, where I am enjoying the vast collection of lady magazines and gossipy hair publications promising celebrity look-alike styles for all.

The time ticks on. Manicurist and client exit. Cash tips dispensed from labelled plastic files as stylists head for home. Drink styrofoam cupful of green tea with honey. Chatty dye-job client remains... and the time ticks on.

What had promised to be a 10-15 minute ordeal has now stretched beyond 8 pm and I have read the bulk of the nearest magazine stack, including several glossy manuals for how to create the best blow-out or shine treatment. Finally left in peace with Elise approx quarter past eight. Sigh of relief. We exit the building, nodding vaguely to the silent doorwoman who has not yet taken her eye off her reading.

Chatting, laughing, bitching, judging... 50 yard walk to car. Stare along line of vehicles for recognition of blue beem. Absentmindedly realize do not see it anywhere.

Me: Elise, I parked it right here.

Jaunty young police officer happens to stroll past.

Me: Excuse me, sir, but I can't find my car... I parked right here?
Officer: Oh yes ma'am, that's because I towed it. I waited as long as I could, really dragged my feet, but this was a permit area only. I wrote you the cheapest ticket I could find, but you'll have to go down to the city building and get it released. Do you know how to get there?
Elise: Oh yes, I've been there before.

4 block walk down East Market, the click of our heeled boots not quite matching the somewhat canine howl of the wind rushing round us. Series of "oh my god's" and "this is so funny" and "only us" complete most of the conversation.

[Side Note: East Market is not an entirely lovely street at such an hour. Esp. for two twenty-something ladies (one in fishnets, no less).]

Enter building, get in line for metal detector. Which I set off a total of 6 times before dismantling my ensemble enough to realize that my stilettos were causing the problem. Reach mealy gray corridor of auto office, stand in front of speaker window and watch the ladies working idling themselves between desks and filing cabinets, as if on permanent reverie in which time/space/tow trucks do not exist.

Informed I am not allowed to retrieve my car without the express consent of the title holder (my father, it happens). Given blank consent form to be signed, documented, notarized and returned before car may be released. Time is now 9 pm.

Return to lobby to find Elise and inform her that we are stranded.

[Background: Elise was unable to drive her own car because her starter died... while she was parked on Butler's campus in a 24 hr tow zone. Thanks to the connections of an ex-bf, the football team managed to push her car home for her.]

Begin calling any friend within driving distance. Realize that all of our friends are drinking (it is Friday night, after all). Also realize that should we get picked up we still are lost without automobiles and possibly in need of getting home to Kokomo to retrieve Elise's now-fixed car.

Which we realized was still locked up at the repair place. Also realized that we could in fact walk home to my place with little trouble other than miserably cold weather and sketchy downtown path crossing all manner of bail bondsmen, the jail, and several dark and lurky alleys.

Head for home. "If our parents ask," we proclaim, "we tell them that we took a cab." Managed to get home relatively hassle-free, all things considered.

Burst into flat, filled with the nervous sense of dread that only a phone call home with bad news can create. Hello, Mom? Ummm, well let me just say that everyone is fine, we're safe... but ummm... my car got towed and we can't get it back.

Needless to say, Diana was not pleased. Lengthy debate ensued over just how, exactly, we would remedy this situation with the notarized statement and my father's signature. Diana: you have to get to Kokomo. Me/Elise: that is a bad idea/we still won't have the car/it is late/we can't get anything notarized until tomorrow. Diana: you have to get to Kokomo.

Decide that this cannot continue without a gloriously large chalice of red wine. (thank you, Charles Simic).

Come to the conclusion that a) we are ridiculous and cannot be trusted amongst the real world and its perils and b) within 24 hours were are going to be the butt of every joke in every church/country club/doctor/lawyer circle... again. Also realize that we are not going out and might as well make the most of staying in and enjoying the fact that we can share clothes (miracle). As it is clear that we cannot drive to work in the morning, I make a frantic call to the store and manage to switch for the noon shift instead of the 8 am opener.

Lots of giggling. And photographs of Elise in her black bodysuit/my patent leather belt/blue stilettos holding the auto release form provocatively. Inspired future caption: How Elise and Allison Really Got the Car Back.

Giddily forced to explain situation several times, as the calls trickle back from everyone we had originally contacted. Pajamas. Red Wine. Decide to watch Reality Bites. Late night cravings kick in, yet sadly my pantry yeilds little more than a few boxes of instant soup and some canned tomato sauce. Discover frozen spring rolls in freezer. Yesssss.

Heat has by now been turned off, as the furnace has the same personality as the one in the basement of Home Alone. It rattles, it furies, it vibrates and shakes the walls. Thus it is turned off at night.

Temperature drops steadily, despite Elise and I wearing sweatpants, hooded sweatshirts/fleeces, and several layers of down feather blankets (which, unfortunately, Elise is naturally allergic to). Drowsing through movie, decide to call it a night. Huddle together for warmth under covers. Spoon. Shiver. Swear loudly. Shiver.

Elise: If Matt turns that goddamn heat off next time I'm here, I'm going to fucking kill him; I don't care if he vibrates into the next century!

A sleepless night. Elise in agony over mix of allergies and repiratory infection, littering the room with used kleenex (well, ok, toilet paper. Like I fucking have real kleenex). Neither of us rested, the dawn breaks and we realize it's time to arise and walk back downtown to work, where it is the plan that I fax the form to Kokomo, where my father with sign and have it notarized and faxed back.

Don't worry, the salon fax was broken. So I traipse off to Kinko's. Within little more than an hour, things are settled. [Apparently the bank notary wasn't working, yet Bob/Diana managed to have her make a special trip to work for her services. Community First Bank, I love you. You have no idea.]

Return to salon with enormous black coffees for Elise/me. Then retrace path to city buildling, where the credit card machine was broken and I was forced to withdraw from ATM using an account whose PIN I didn't know. Managed to remember, miraculously. Then walked what seemed like miles across East Market to Last Chance Towing, where the beem was once again restored to my custody.

And that was only the beginning of what was to be a most interesting and memorable Saturday...