Quote:
Originally posted by AmberLee
Hmm, I was once stuck by my fingers in a mail slot in Washington DC while wearing a party hat, evening gown and fuzzy bedroom slippers but I contend it could've happened to anybody...
I'll explain later. Gotta run to a meeting!
We were attending a convention in a swanky hotel in DC with LONG curving hallways. You could hear people talking as they moved in the hallways long before you could ever see them. Anyway I'd written some postcards before we left for the banquet, but hadn't had a chance to mail them. I was wearing a red evening gown and for some promotional thing or another all of us from California were given an electric blue fluffy do-wah to wear in our hair. After the banquet we all went back to our rooms and I immediately kicked off my heels and switched to fluffy lime green slippers. When I noticed the postcards, I ran the to the mail slot which was next to the elevator in the center where the hotel wings met. As I left my room, another member handed me a long-stemmed rose for reasons that I don't recall now. I dropped the postcards in the slot, and to my horror they caught on a decorative ledge inside the plastic shoot. I stuffed my fingers in and was slowly able to dislodge them one by one. Unfortunately, then my fingers were caught. I put the rose in my mouth and tried to work my fingers loose, but wound up catching both hands instead. As I was feverishly working to free myself, I heard some of the older women in our group making nasty remarks about what idiots the Californian ya-hoos were. And I was trapped at the elevators, in a red evening gown, blue fluffy fat and lime fluffy slippers. And a rose in my mouth! A quick mental survey convinced me at least that I wouldn't/ couldn't do my home state any favors by claiming it. I tried to figure out which of my grandmother's accents I could carry off easiest: Gramma's southern twang or Nana's Wisconsin tones. As the trio came into sight, I'd spit out my rose and announced grandly that I was from Wisconsin. They entered the elevators in silence. Eventually I tore my fingers from the slot regardless of skinned knuckles and retreated to my room. I rather suspect they knew I was Californian by the hat. **sigh**