Everything was going so well. I was on my way to Wednesday lunch with my theater peeps. The sun was shining. The birds were singing! Happy, happy, happy!
And it was going to be a fabulous Wednesday Lunch! We were trying out a new pizza place downtown.
Life was good!
I was on time for once! And I found a parking spot in front of the restaurant! I even had change for the meter!
Certainly a trifecta of good fortune!
I was singing a happy show tune as I jumped out of my car and headed toward the parking meter, unaware that my Blackberry (actually, my employer's Blackberry), had tumbled out of my purse.
Allow me to shift gears for a moment. Have you ever played Foosball? I've never been particularly good at it.
In fact, the only time I manage to get a ball into the slot is when I am playing defense, and I accidentally kick the ball backwards into my own goal.
I was good at Foosball on that particular Wednesday.
Imagine my cell phone as the ball. And the opening in the curb, that leads toward the bowels of Columbia, SC as the goal.
The slow motion instant replay would go something like this: I kick something with my foot. I look down in horror, just in time to see my phone slide toward the goal, about to score 2 points. I scream.
I tried to follow the phone into Never-never-land, but I could only get half of one foot into it. I knelt down and looked in.
It was very dark down there.
I imagined rats. Rats with friends in China making long distance phone calls that would be charged back to my cost center at work.
At work! Holy Crap! What would I tell my boss? "I've got some bad news and some good news...and some bad news. I lost my Blackberry. But I know exactly where it is. Under Gervais Street."
No. That would not work.
At the risk of dragging out an already long blog, let me just say that I noticed a Columbia fireman leaving the pizza place. His name was Michael. Strong, handsome, Michael. Did I mention Michael's muscles?
I took Michael to the scene of the debacle. Strong, handsome and resourceful Michael borrowed a crow bar from the driver of a pick-up truck parked across the street, used it to open a man hole, and jumped in.
Did you hear me?
He jumped in.
And he disappeared under the street.
The next thing I saw was a hand poking out of the manhole, holding my Blackberry. Then he rose out of that manhole like he was Mary Stinkin' Poppins.
Now if I had climbed into a manhole, I would need an elevator to get out. Or a pogo stick. And it would not be pretty. I would be covered in dirt. My clothes would be destroyed.
There would be blood everywhere.
But thankfully, Fireman Michael came to my rescue. Strong, handsome, resourceful, sweet Michael.
I thanked him profusely.
And asked him if he would carry me to my car.