Irresponsibility = Consequence. Aka, I Should Know Better.Monday Hustle's Diary
Right right RIGHT, hey, how are ya playaaaa!
Sorry. Just getting a little over excited because life is feeling good. Pretty darn good. Well, there is ONE HANDBRAKE in the mix (nearly two, as you’ll discover below..), that being my Achilles, but we don’t talk about that anymore because the more attention I give it the slower it will heal. Is that right? Or am I being totally irreverent by ignoring and making light of the situation’s severity? I’m uncertain, but if you do want to know about the progress (OR LACK THEREOF), please see below. And if, like me, you are sick of hearing about my cursed left Achilles, then please ignore the bracketed section at the bottom of this article. Seriously, if I have to make the same joke about my Achilles heel being my Achilles heel one more time I think I will snap the other one just so I can mix it up and say my Achilles heelS are my Achilles heel. I’m literally that bored of listening to myself talk about it. Honestly – healing powered beings, sentient or otherwise, time to rally together. Let’s get this leg better. I promise I’ll do only good things once I’m walking on two legs again. I’ll help people cross the road. I’ll hold open doors. I’ll reach into the newfound depths of my empathy levels to make positive change. I’m ready so ready to hit that dance floor again, it ain’t funny.
On Monday night, I returned to Auckland city from Wellington, and found myself feeling great relief. Not solely because I had landed back safely in the city of sails, but because I had landed back in the city of sails having had my phone returned safely into my possession.
Let me explain.
If you follow me on Instagram, you’ll know that I was given the honour of MCing a good friend’s wedding on Saturday night!
Helena asked me months and months ago whether I would MC her wedding over a candlelit dinner and bubbles. I remember the night very clearly. There was pasta and garlic bread involved, so even if Helena hadn’t popped the question, it would have been a memorable occasion. You know it’s true love when someone cooks Italian for you. Helena and I went to high-school together, and I teared up at the excitement I felt because not only did she want me at her wedding, she wanted me to be an integral part of it!
I felt lucky. And excited. And I did not want to screw it up.
You know I’ve MC’d before, but there is something quite different when a close friend entrusts you with that sort of responsibility. I mean, I knew I was capable – but I also knew I wanted to make sure I absolutely nailed it. Because if I didn’t, it would not only reflect on me, but Helena, too!! And I couldn’t have that. I could NOT have that. Oh no!
When I snapped my Achilles in December (sorry to bring it up again, but it’s relevant), I thought that’s ok – by April I’ll be back on my feet. And when I re-snapped it, I was like that’s ok – by April, I’ll be back on my feet. And when I went into hospital, I was like damn – by April – I probably won’t be back on my own two feet.
The thought of MC-ing in a moon-boot/on crutches kind of sucked. I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel a little self conscious about it. I didn’t want to stand on a stage and have my inabilities on show. And besides, what dress goes with a flippin’ moon-boot?? I thought about pawning off the MC responsibility onto someone else. Very seriously. Of course, it was just my ego at play, and in the end I knew I had no choice but to embrace this challenge and incorporate the moon-boot into my material as a way to make light of my situation in front of an audience of 197 people.
Including the Prime Minister.
It started at about 2.30PM when I welcomed everybody into the Cathedral and asked them to please switch their phones for the ceremony. I was most nervous about that part, because it was formal. And controlled. And literally 197+ silent eyes were looking at me.
I had to remind myself that this had nothing to do with me! That I was simply the vessel which was to deliver the necessary information so that the wedding could go ahead as the bride and groom desired. I wasn’t doing this for myself. It was something bigger. And that’s often what I remind myself of when I’m feeling nervous about speaking in front of a crowd – that you are simply the messenger – and if you deliver the information in a way that keeps the audience top of mind rather than looking inward and feeling anxious, then you leave space for openness and connection which will never manifest if you are worried about something as trivial as how you might look (pro tip for the day)!
The wedding went off without a hitch (mind pun). The reception went off without a qualm. People laughed at my jokes. The order of the evening went as smoothly as it possibly could given the fact that drinks were supplied and old friends were catching up and at one point none of the bridal party members were on the stage where they were meant to be!
I would go as far to say that I did nail it. If you saw my Instagram Story from the night, you would have seen Bill English’s face followed by me saying, ‘I’m not drunk. I never drink when I MC’. And that is TRUE! In fact, I left the reception about 45 minutes after my MC responsibilities came to an end because I could not dance. I was also exhausted, seeing as I had been working.
So Helena was happy and married. I was actually a little bit proud of myself. I woke up fresh as a daisy on Sunday morning, and was looking forward to a celebratory wine and a bowl of chips. Which is exactly what I consumed.
But the reason I didn’t write a post on Monday is because I may have got a little overzealous. You see, there was a post-wedding gathering at the Southern Cross, and I had a glass of champagne in celebration seeing as I had taken it very easy on the Saturday night. Consummate professional, me! However, one champagne at 1pm had turned into 2 by 2pm. 3 by 3pm.. And you can see where this is headed! The evening had continued in style, as I caught up with Wellington friends for dinner. There maaay have been a free tequila shot involved, and it was at some point after that shot had been consumed that I lost my phone.
But not lol.
I Kylie-Jenner-2016- realized this fact, made my way back to the bar I had dinner at and had zero luck. I trudged home and embarrassed my-tequila-induced-self in front of my mum and dad (which I haven’t done for about 10 years since I’m meant to KNOW BETTER), and then, the slight panic started to set in.
My phone. It’s just a phone. But where the hell was it?? It was still ringing. No one was picking up. The police didn’t have it. Neither did the taxi company.
I was worried. Not just because phones are now everybody’s entire life, but because it had all of my Achilles tendon progress photos on it. No, I hadn’t backed up my phone. No, I hadn’t transferred them to my laptop. No, I hadn’t planned ahead at all because I don’t normally lose stuff!!
Life lessons, aye.
If I were one to assign blame and pawn off responsibility, I wouldn’t blame the champagne. I wouldn’t blame the tequila. I’d blame this situation on the fact that as well as a bag and a phone, I currently also have to look after a pair of crutches. And as far as I’m concerned, crutches are two things too many for any person to manage.
(The one thing I do love about this experience is that it gave me the opportunity to use three versions of the same word in that last sentence)
The next morning, I called the taxi company again first thing. The taxi driver had been on a night shift so I had to wait until 1pm before they would contact him. It was a long day. A long slightly hungover day. I did what anyone would do in that scenario to calm their nerves between the hours of 7.30am and 1pm.
I made myself some bacon.
I then took my sister out for coffee. Visited my Grandma. And tried to distract myself while living in hope that it would just be in the taxi. Just sitting there on that seat! No hassle or stress required.
1pm came. I called them. And much to my dismay, they didn’t have the phone.
Oh, man. Here it comes. The regret. The dreaded regret. The you-should-know-better-tequila-tinged regret.
I was weighing up my options. Do I just buy another phone outright? Do I buy it in Wellington or in Auckland? Do I just give up and go phone-less and never go on Instagram again?
No option was overly appealing.
I drove to mum’s work (I can drive automatics now, hurrah!), and we decided to head to the house I was at on the Sunday night to do a recce. After all, my phone was somehow still ringing! It had to be somewhere.
On the way there, I decided to call my phone just one more time. Just one more time. And after about 200 rings, someone picked up.
It was the taxi driver. He had, indeed, found the phone. And he was a ten minute drive away.
You always judge your stress levels based on the relief you feel when the stress dissipates. And after that, I was euphoric. Because I was scheduled to fly back to Auckland in one hour, and if I had to head home sans phone because I had one drink too many, I would start to question all the life decisions.
So, the lesson here is to never accept free tequila shots. Unless you are not on crutches. And also the lesson is to celebrate responsibly. And to eat lots of dinner if you are also drinking bubbles. And all of the other lessons we know all about when it comes to drinking safely because we are no longer teenagers. Well, I’m no longer a teenager. Far from it.
Can anyone else empathize with this story, or am I on my own? Maybe share this article with your younger siblings or nephews/nieces/daughters/sons/ANYONE as a way to put them off binge drinking?
I know it was particularly embarrassing, because the next day I said to my mum, ‘well – that’ll learn me.’ And all she said back was, ‘I’m not saying anything’.
In this case – she did not need to!
(Achilles drama – basically the skin won’t heal – so I still have an open wound on the the back of my leg. Until skin heals – I can’t walk – so all progress is slowed down immensely. Seeing surgeon next week, and hopefully will have an action plan from there!! Siiiiiiigh.)