Thursday, March 31, 2016
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Rule #26: Never Keep Nail Glue in your Purse
In the Spring of 2007, when I was 20 years old, a friend and I road-tripped down to sunny Orlando, Florida to visit some old roommates of mine from a college internship I had participated in 2 semesters prior.
For the first two days, we spent the majority of our time sight-seeing, theme-parking, and eating out. It was a good time: Jessica checked out the local shopping scene (as well as the local male inhabitants) and I took advantage of the opportunity to reconnect with old friends.
Midway through our week, we decided to drive out to Sarasota Beach, one of the most beautiful coastal destinations in Florida. While the sand was certainly white and the water a crystal turquoise-blue, there was one component the city was missing: an active young adult scene. Sure, there were a few bars sprinkled here and there but none that Jessica or I were old enough to get into.
As we made our way back to the hotel for the evening, just as we had given up on the chance of finding any source of entertainment, we spotted a brightly-lit, neon sign on a nearby shopping strip. To this day, I cannot remember the name of that dance club, but I will never forget the events that transpired there.
First, came Jess's brilliant idea.
"Hey, we should check that place out," she says to me as she taps on her breaks and gently steers the car into the nearby turning lane. I raised a skeptical eyebrow in reply.
"Oh come on, it could be an adventure!" Her infamous (and overused, I might add) line.
So, we pulled up to the entrance of the very sketchy club and Jessica rolled down the passenger window in order to shout at the nearby security guard. The guy was your typical club bouncer: very, very big, broad shouldered, and dressed in black from head to toe.
"Hello ladies," he said with a smile as he approached our vehicle.
"Hi," Jessica said excitedly as she flirted her way into the conversation. Five minutes later, we were back on the road heading to the hotel for a change of clothes, with an invitation to check out a 21-and-over dance club in a couple of hours. My stomach was in knots, there was no way we were going to just be able to waltz right in that club. Jessica thought differently of course.
"We're already in," she argued. "If he was going to card us, he would have already done it by now. We'll get in, you'll see. Stop worrying so much."
We got carded.
"Man, you guys aren't 21?" The bouncer said with a disappointed frown as the woman at the door finished marking our hands. Honestly, could have cared less that we weren't getting bracelets, I was just relieved that we weren't getting in trouble for trying to get into the club in the first place.
Then, a miraculous thing happened. Despite the fact that we lied, cheated, and downright ignored the rules of alcohol and bars, the bouncer nodded to the girl at the door and told her to give us bracelets.
And even though the place was a complete hole-in-the-wall and dead empty without a single, good-looking guy within miles, Jessica and I couldn't have been more thrilled at the fact that we had managed to surpass the elusive 21-year rule. So, we sat down at a nearby high-top and celebrated our success.
Now, it was after this time that my night got really bad. After a good fifteen minutes or so had passed, I decided to hit up the restroom. My contacts were drying out really bad, and I wanted a moment to pop some eye drops in and check my make-up.
However, a funny thing happened when that tiny drop of saline salution hit my eye. It burned, bad. I tried to look in the mirror in order to inspect the source of the pain, but my eye wouldn't open. Beginning to panic, I dropped my purse on the floor and with both hands, began attempting to pry open my right eye. Tears began to flood my other eye as I tried to figure out what on earth was going on.
Thankfully, Jessica walked in about this time and rushed over to my side.
"What's wrong?" She yelled over my slightly-loud whines.
"My....eye...won't....open," I choked out.
Luckily for me, Jessica worked at an eye doctor. Immediately, she pulled my hands away from my face yanked open my eye lid and ripped the contact out of my eye. Relief began to swell over me as the pain in my cornea slowly evaporated.
"What did you do to this thing?" Jessica asked then. The contact lens had been reduced to a ball of sticky mess.
"I don't know," I stammered, dropping my eyes to my purse. I reached for the bottle of Saline solution I had just opened. Instead, what I found was a very small bottle of nail glue, which I generally kept on hand for my show choir concerts at school. Realization flooded over me and my cheeks grew red.
"You put glue in your eye?" Jessica screeched at me in disbelief. Then we both began laughing.
Although where I should have gone next is the emergency room, neither Jess or I thought it would be a good plan of action as we had been illegally hanging out at a bar at the time that the accident occured. Instead, we combed my hair over the damaged eye and went out and enjoyed the remainder of our last night on the beach.
The next day, we found an eye doctor and I had everything checked out. I rode back to Orlando with dilated eyes and some prescription eye drops, but no significant injury, thankfully.
Needless to say, though, I haven't kept another extra bottle of nail glue on hand since.
For the first two days, we spent the majority of our time sight-seeing, theme-parking, and eating out. It was a good time: Jessica checked out the local shopping scene (as well as the local male inhabitants) and I took advantage of the opportunity to reconnect with old friends.
Midway through our week, we decided to drive out to Sarasota Beach, one of the most beautiful coastal destinations in Florida. While the sand was certainly white and the water a crystal turquoise-blue, there was one component the city was missing: an active young adult scene. Sure, there were a few bars sprinkled here and there but none that Jessica or I were old enough to get into.
As we made our way back to the hotel for the evening, just as we had given up on the chance of finding any source of entertainment, we spotted a brightly-lit, neon sign on a nearby shopping strip. To this day, I cannot remember the name of that dance club, but I will never forget the events that transpired there.
First, came Jess's brilliant idea.
"Hey, we should check that place out," she says to me as she taps on her breaks and gently steers the car into the nearby turning lane. I raised a skeptical eyebrow in reply.
"Oh come on, it could be an adventure!" Her infamous (and overused, I might add) line.
So, we pulled up to the entrance of the very sketchy club and Jessica rolled down the passenger window in order to shout at the nearby security guard. The guy was your typical club bouncer: very, very big, broad shouldered, and dressed in black from head to toe.
"Hello ladies," he said with a smile as he approached our vehicle.
"Hi," Jessica said excitedly as she flirted her way into the conversation. Five minutes later, we were back on the road heading to the hotel for a change of clothes, with an invitation to check out a 21-and-over dance club in a couple of hours. My stomach was in knots, there was no way we were going to just be able to waltz right in that club. Jessica thought differently of course.
"We're already in," she argued. "If he was going to card us, he would have already done it by now. We'll get in, you'll see. Stop worrying so much."
We got carded.
"Man, you guys aren't 21?" The bouncer said with a disappointed frown as the woman at the door finished marking our hands. Honestly, could have cared less that we weren't getting bracelets, I was just relieved that we weren't getting in trouble for trying to get into the club in the first place.
Then, a miraculous thing happened. Despite the fact that we lied, cheated, and downright ignored the rules of alcohol and bars, the bouncer nodded to the girl at the door and told her to give us bracelets.
And even though the place was a complete hole-in-the-wall and dead empty without a single, good-looking guy within miles, Jessica and I couldn't have been more thrilled at the fact that we had managed to surpass the elusive 21-year rule. So, we sat down at a nearby high-top and celebrated our success.
Now, it was after this time that my night got really bad. After a good fifteen minutes or so had passed, I decided to hit up the restroom. My contacts were drying out really bad, and I wanted a moment to pop some eye drops in and check my make-up.
However, a funny thing happened when that tiny drop of saline salution hit my eye. It burned, bad. I tried to look in the mirror in order to inspect the source of the pain, but my eye wouldn't open. Beginning to panic, I dropped my purse on the floor and with both hands, began attempting to pry open my right eye. Tears began to flood my other eye as I tried to figure out what on earth was going on.
Thankfully, Jessica walked in about this time and rushed over to my side.
"What's wrong?" She yelled over my slightly-loud whines.
"My....eye...won't....open," I choked out.
Luckily for me, Jessica worked at an eye doctor. Immediately, she pulled my hands away from my face yanked open my eye lid and ripped the contact out of my eye. Relief began to swell over me as the pain in my cornea slowly evaporated.
"What did you do to this thing?" Jessica asked then. The contact lens had been reduced to a ball of sticky mess.
"I don't know," I stammered, dropping my eyes to my purse. I reached for the bottle of Saline solution I had just opened. Instead, what I found was a very small bottle of nail glue, which I generally kept on hand for my show choir concerts at school. Realization flooded over me and my cheeks grew red.
"You put glue in your eye?" Jessica screeched at me in disbelief. Then we both began laughing.
Although where I should have gone next is the emergency room, neither Jess or I thought it would be a good plan of action as we had been illegally hanging out at a bar at the time that the accident occured. Instead, we combed my hair over the damaged eye and went out and enjoyed the remainder of our last night on the beach.
The next day, we found an eye doctor and I had everything checked out. I rode back to Orlando with dilated eyes and some prescription eye drops, but no significant injury, thankfully.
Needless to say, though, I haven't kept another extra bottle of nail glue on hand since.
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