After liberally throwing out a bunch of, “See you tomorrow night”-esque promises to folks I knew at the Starlight Ballroom in Philly and telling myself that Sunday would be my chance to not be a total jackass, I was really looking forward to the show in New York. A couple friends were in from Michigan and we were meeting up for a couple beers beforehand. Sitting around, listening to Lucifer’s Friend, talking about music and whatever else, it was all going pretty much as planned.

Then I flushed my car keys down my buddy’s toilet.

Yup, same guy to whom the night before I’d been such a prick. I was using his bathroom, and when I leaned in to flush, my car keys (there was nothing on the keychain but the key and the remote, so it was small), fell out of my hoodie pocket, into the swirling water, and before I knew it, were gone.

I stood there and looked at the empty toilet for about two solid minutes, and said to myself, “I’m going to have to go into the next room now and say that I flushed my car keys down the toilet.” And that’s just what I did.

I have a lifelong history of half-self-caused/half-bad-luck buffoonery. To the best of my knowledge, there isn’t one single word in the English language that means, “I’m an idiot, but not everything is completely my fault.” The Germans probably have one, but if they do, it’s probably just five other words put together, so maybe that doesn’t count.

My buddy, his wife, another friend and the out of towners offered an appropriate mixture of sympathy and joshing, and I’m glad to say that at least for everyone else, the jovial mood didn’t seem completely spoiled. When you flush your keys down the toilet, you take comfort in what you can.

Of course, they were the only set of keys, save for the valet key, which was locked inside the car. A complex series of phone calls to The Patient Mrs. and AAA later, it was painfully apparent there was no way I was making it to B.B. King’s to see The Gates of Slumber and Pentagram again. The tow truck driver came and got the car unlocked, setting the piercing alarm off several times in the process, I got the valet key, put the car in neutral, and got it towed to the dealership, where as of Tuesday morning and this post, it’s still residing.

Not only did I not see Pentagram, but my lack of vehicle prevented me from fulfilling a promise to show my support for local bros Alkahest at Precious Metal at Lit Lounge last night. Wow, maybe I’m just an asshole all the time and my flashes of good nature are nothing more than blind self-perception. Quite a journey of discovery this series of “reviews” has turned out to be.

I figure I’m in the hole about $300 for the new key and remote, because it’s a Volvo and you can’t fart in that car without it costing you at least $300. Fortunately, The Patient Mrs. took a “Shit happens, and no, the universe is not out to get you” position on the matter, and though I stand by my position to the semi-contrary — namely that not only is the universe out to get me, but I’m willing to help it every chance I get — survival seems imminent. Dignity was a farce anyway.

Tags: Pentagram, Sad shit

This entry was posted on Tuesday, January 19th, 2010 at 10:40 am and is filed under Reviews. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.