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The Saga of the Favorite Tie
Oct. 27th, 2005 05:46 pmSo ... when we were in Chicago, a horrible, terrible, awful, *insert any other "feeling of doom" adjective you like here* thing occurred.
My husband has this tie. To me, it looks like any other tie --- it's blue with some kind of yellowish/beige-ish/tan-ish square pattern on it. You know ... a tie. But, this is not just any tie. It's his favorite tie. And, well, let's just say that's about in the same league as a woman's favorite pair of designer shoes. Yeah. It's sacred. It's something you do not mess with.
Only, I did. Not intentionally, mind you. I would never intentionally harm this tie, as I know how much my husband loves it ... and, also, I have to admit, it is a nice tie. I mean, I'm not much of a tie person, but even I like it. I guess you could say it's kind of my favorite tie, too --- for whatever that's worth. But, while we were in Chicago, I was sitting at the desk in our hotel room, busily working away on an original fic. I've been running quite behind on this project for some time, and it took me a long time to find some inspiration for it ... so, I was very engrossed in what I was doing. And, as sometimes, happens, Muse (quirky bimbo that she is) dictated that I should write the beginning of this story out by hand. I don't usually write that way. I never thought this would happen, but I have become quite a computer person, and I'm usually very comfortable seated in front of my monitor, plucking away at my keyboard in those manic-depressive spurts that, at least in me, signal true creativity. But ... sometimes ... especially when Muse has been long on writing demands and short on inspiration ... I turn to my pen and paper and tackle the task of writing "the old fashioned way". I don't know. I can't explain it, really. There's just something cathartic and almost soothing about the sound of a pen scratching across a sheet of paper. When I'm stuck, it can go a long, long way toward feeding my creative juices.
Anyhow, the tie (the favorite tie) was also on the desk, laying right close to the top of my notebook. It wasn't causing any trouble ... I mean, it's a tie, right? So, yeah. It was just there, doing the "tie thing" and laying around. (This is kind of the same thing my cat does, but she is not a tie. She is a cat ... and, yet ... I digress ...)
Somehow, in my writing frenzy, I managed to lay my pen down so that it was sitting underneath the favorite tie. And, folks, I wasn't using your standard ball-point pen. No ... we're talking gel-based ink in a nice, deep green color. If you've ever used a gel-based pen, you know ... they leak ink all over anything they touch for any length of time.
You can see where I'm headed with this, right?
Oh, yeah. Ink ... deep, dark green ink ... a huge splotch of it ... on the tie. The Favorite Tie.
I was horrified. I wanted to cry. I sat there, staring at it for quite a long time, and thinking up ways in which I could escape the hotel and slip away into the dark reaches of urban America, before my husband detected the (innocent) sacrilege I had worked on his tie. His Favorite Tie. Then, I pulled myself together and told myself to suck it up. I'm a big girl. My husband is a big boy. We both understand that accidents happen. And, besides, I couldn't go anywhere ... I was in the middle of Chicago with no car and no cab fare. So, really, running away was not an option.
Instead, I phoned downstairs to the hotel's in-house dry cleaners. I struggled to control the shaking in my voice as I explained my situation --- emphasizing that this was my husband's Favorite Tie. And, luckily, they were able to send someone up to retrieve it right away. I figured, if they tackled it while the ink was still fresh, they had a better chance of getting the stain out. I handed the tie over with a certain sense of trepidation. After all, it is The Favorite Tie. But, I figured they would not let me follow it downstairs and babysit it through the cleaning process, no matter how pitiful I looked. All I could do was hope they could save The Tie and my marriage. Not that there was any pressure associated with this transaction or anything.
And, success!! A few hours later, there was a knock on our door. The Favorite Tie had returned --- all clean and sparkly and looking better than new. Hurrah! I put The Favorite Tie in the closet, with my husband's other things and heaved a sigh of relief. The ordeal was over. I had survived ... nay, I had conquered.
Eh ... not ... so ... much.
As often happens, just when you turn your back, Fate decides she is not yet finished with you. Or, in this case, with your tie ... er ... your husband's tie, that is.
The next day, my husband gathered his belongings out of the closet and packed them in preparation for leaving. (And, yes, for the record, I had told him about the incident with the ink and the tie and the dry cleaning ... although I left out the part about it being Muse's fault. He never has understood her.) We packed. We checked out of the hotel. We had the valet retrieve our rental car. We had a nice, leisurely drive along the lake (I think it's Lake Michigan). We headed to the airport. The sun was shining. The sky was blue. The Tie was clean and safe. God was in His Heaven and all was right with the world.
Until we stopped for gas.
I happened to look over at my husband and comment: "Wow, it sure was lucky they were able to get that ink stain out of your Favorite Tie."
I expected to receive an adoring, rather indulgent look and be praised for my resourcefulness and ingenuity in thinking to call the dry cleaners so quickly. (Of course, forgetting I was the one who inked The Tie, in the first place.) What I got, instead, was this panic-stricken, deer-in-the-headlights expression as my husband shook his head and said, "Oh, crap. I forgot my tie!"
Yes, folks ... he hadn't packed The Favorite Tie. Instead of being safely ensconced in his over-sized garment bag, The Tie (The Favorite Tie) was left hanging, forlorn and bereft ... abandoned like yesterdays coffee-ground-stained newspaper ... in the closet back at our hotel room. I couldn't believe it. After all the trouble I went to to get that darn Tie cleaned, and my husband was so ungrateful as to go off and just leave it hanging in the closet. Of course, for once in my life, I managed to hold my tongue. No need reminding him why The Favorite Tie was hanging in a separate section of the closet from his other clothes. I mean ... he had been kind enough to overlook the green ink spot 'o' DOOM, so I was determined to do the same.
We called the hotel immediately. Keep in mind that we had only checked out two hours earlier. Luckily, it seemed the next occupants for our room had not yet checked in, so the room was empty. We were referred over to Security, since Lost and Found was closed, and one of the security guards/personnel agreed to go up to the room, retrieve The Favorite Tie from the closet, and turn it into Lost and Found on Monday. (This was on a Sunday, and, Lost & Found is closed on the weekends. Apparently, if you lose anything in the Chicago Hyatt Regency on a weekend ... well, you're just out of luck.) The Security employee was very nice. He took down our cell phone number, and agreed to call once The Favorite Tie was safely secured.
An hour or so later, as we were sitting in the airport, engaged in that most ancient, honored pastime: people-watching, the cell phone rang. It was the Security employee. He had retrieved The Tie. He would turn it in to Lost and Found on Monday, and we could call to make arrangements to have it shipped home to us.
Hurrah! Crisis averted. The Favorite Tie was safe, locked up with Hotel Security. The ordeal was over.
Ah, Fate ... that most fickle of all mistresses. You must never, never turn your back on her. Never.
Come Monday, and I look up the number, call the hotel, reach the Lost & Found department --- which, by the way, never answers its phone ... I guess they're too busy either losing things or finding things --- and leave a detailed message about our tie adventure from the day before. And, I wait for them to call me back.
And wait.
And wait.
And wait some more.
On Wednesday, Lost & Found calls me back. They have ties ... but they're not sure they have The Favorite Tie. No one turned in a tie (much less a Favorite One) from our room. They can't seem to track down the elusive Security employee who so kindly saved The Favorite Tie. They would like for me to call and describe The Tie so that they can look in their warehouse to see if it's there. This was all on voice mail,of course, because in true, fate-twisted fashion, they called while I was out taking my mom to the mall to look for new shoes. But, as I'm sitting there, listening to the message, my first thought is: "They have a whole warehouse ... of ties?" And, my hopes of ever seeing The Favorite Tie again start to go right down the tubes. I can just see them, swirling around the drain like so much dirty bathwater.
I call back. Lost & Found is closed, already. Apparently, you also can't lose anything before 7 AM or after 3 PM, as those are the hours for that department ... and, as we've already said, they don't work weekends, either. So, I call Security again. I talk to another very nice security employee, who tells me that, unless we know the name of the person my husband talked to about the tie, it will be almost impossible to track it down. (We don't by the way ... my husband didn't think to jot it down ... an oversight I believe we will come to regret deeply.) But, my very nice Security employee tells me he would be happy to refer me to the manager. And, of course, all this time, as he's being so nice ... and I'm being so nice ... and we're all being polite ... all that's running through my mind is: "He's probably wearing the tie right now ... that Favorite Tie stealing bastard."
Well, I talk to the Assistant Manager --- who, I might add, also sounded suspiciously like someone who might have, at that very moment, been wearing The Favorite Tie. He is very nice, and, yet, in that innocuous way service people have, very unhelpful. He tells me they will look into it, and he'll have someone call me back right away.
Today, I come in from another errand (a trip to Home Depot) to find a message on my phone. It's from ... you guessed it ... Lost and Found. The very same person who called me the first time. And, guess what? They would like to know what the tie looks like so they can look in their warehouse to see if it's there.
*sigh*
Fate ... she is a fickle, fickle bitch.
So, now, I'm still no closer to being reunited with The Favorite Tie. But, on the up side, the lady who runs the Lost & Found now hates me, since I (inadvertently) sicced the Assistant Manager on her. And, I still think people at the Hyatt are taking turns wearing The Tie ... handing it off like some badge of honor or something. Oh, sure ... it's all in my mind, you say. But ... it is The Favorite Tie.
As for me ... I think I'm going to just throw away that damn green pen.
