Our experience at the Colorado Gold Writers Conference turned out to be a typical Tess Thompson adventure. By ourselves, we are healthy, relatively organized, rational women. However, when you put us together, chaos reigns. It’s been going on for years.
We attended the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers Conference in Denver, and on the way, we missed our exit and ended up heading for Wyoming. The GPS led us in circles, but we finally found our hotel, pulled into the underground parking garage, and drove up the ramp to a level that had to be at least a mile above the mile-high city. We squeezed into the tiny spot and left our luggage in the car while we checked in.
As soon as we exited the elevator, we realized we hadn't heard a beep-beep sound. Oh hell, we forgot to set the car alarm. Like the safety-conscious travelers that we are, we got back in the elevator, and oh double hell, we didn’t know which level we had parked on. Since we knew we parked near the top, we hit button number four. We got out of the elevator and wouldn’t you know? No car! We tried button number three. No luck. The winning number was two. We couldn’t believe it was number two since we thought we’d nearly climbed Pikes Peak.
Our next stop was the bar because we figured we really deserved a drink. Judi ordered an Amaretto and soda for herself and an Amaretto Sour for Charlene. The bartender, a cute little gal who couldn’t have been any older than ten, looked at Judi, and said, "What's Amaretto?” She indicated the bottles on shelves behind her and Judi pointed to the distinctive bottle saying, “That’s it.” Judi then repeated the drink order, and the bartender with a perplexed look on her face said, "What’s in an Amaretto Sour?”
“Hell, I don’t drink it. I guess it’s got lime or lemon in it,” Judi replied and took out her phone to google the directions for making the drink. Judi paid for the drinks with her card and left shaking her head. The next round was on Charlene, and Judi felt a great sense of pride when Charlene returned to the table carrying two drinks without any incident. Now, the bartender was one rung above her colleagues because she had learned to make an Amaretto Sour.
Later that night, the message light began blinking on the phone in the hotel room. Charlene called the front desk, and after hearing the message, slapped her forehead and said, "I am such an idiot." Turning to Judi, she said, “I left my credit card at the bar.”
Realizing Charlene didn’t hold the sole title as an idiot, Judi said, “Maybe it was mine.” They both looked in their respective wallets, and yes, Judi was the culprit who had left her card at the bar. In Judi’s defense, it probably happened during all the confusion while she was playing bartender.
The last major incident, well for this trip anyway, involved the room safe. We tried to lock our jewelry away. It’s not as if we had drippy diamonds or anything, but our jewelry, some of which we inherited from our dear mother, was sentimental. We aren’t the Kardashians after all. We didn’t see the printed directions and managed to lock ourselves out of the safe and had to call security. A kind man helped us open it, and said that this happened all the time. Yeah, sure it did, we thought.
I wish we could say that’s all that happened on this trip, but the rest we’ll just keep to ourselves. We are too busy writing to have time for the nice young men in clean white suits to come and take us away.