Earlier this summer, a good friend of mine and I took a long road trip. We hopped into a fancy rental car, and hit the road up the coast of California. We were headed to Lake Tahoe to watch two incredible humans wed.
So, as weddings pose, there was a get together the night before. And because Tahoe and Reno share a close proximity, the get together was in a casino. And by that, I mean casiYES!
A few Coors Lights deep, my friend, Char, looks at me and makes the I'm-telepathing-that-it's-time-to-use-the-bathroom face. I nod and we make our way out of the bar to venture to the restroom.
But, wait. What's that sound?
Loud techno music with the bass thump, thump, thumping so loudly you could barely speak in the lobby. I can see seizure-esque lights spinning and splashing every corner, and a flood of people in and out.
Char and I stop. Look at each other. And make the we're-absoultely-crashing-this-random-party face.
So we walk in.
We walk with authority, as you do when you crash a party. We feigned as though we knew someone in the back and headed to a hip, club-like couch. The party was clad with four bars, a rockin' DJ, and so many 50-somethings, I couldn't wrap my head around the seemingly opposite connection.
It didn't take long for us to notice everyone was wearing an obnoxious shiny badge either. We sat for a minute and no one approached us. So, we concluded these 50-somethings didn't care and we were golden.
We quick hit the restroom, knowing the open bar was about to be our bitch.
Upon returning to the party, we did the same gestures, just on the opposite side of the massive hall. We get to the back bar, and I'm already making eye contact with the bartender, letting him know I'll be frequenting this bar all night. Just as we're about to reach the bar's ledge, we're stopped by a woman in business casual, holding a clipboard of stacked papers.
She stops me to ask where my badge is. It's here I harness my bullshit skills from Journalism school and all those stories I tell to people in bars.
Catie: "We left our badges in the hotel room."
Woman with Clipboard: "Okay. What's your name?"
Ca: "Kate Miller." (Blatant steal from season 9 of Friends.)
WWC begins searching through many pages and looks at me quizzically.
WWC: "You're name isn't on here. Who are you with?"
It's here I give a sun-shiny look to Charlotte.
Ca: "I'm here with my good friend, Leslie Gordon."
Charlotte steps in, doing her best to look over the woman's shoulder to peek at any name.
WWC: "You're name isn't on here either. What region are you with?"
This is the point in the lie where we fly free or tank.
Charlotte: "San Francisco"
WWC: "Okay, but what region."
We were tanking.
After a series of back and forth's the woman's face was the I-know-you-two-are-fucking-with-me-to-drink-at-the-open-bar look.
Our response: "My boss is in the lobby. Let me go sort it out with him."
What we really meant: "You caught us. And shit."
So we walked out with our tails between our legs, but not really because the rest of the night was Coors Lights and wedding celebrations.
We gave it our best shot.
Thanks for soundin' down..