opening the vault

I have been through a lot with my platonic soulmate, Anna, she who presides over that terrestrial body known only as Planet Awesome. We have faced many trying times together, be it in the tropical jungles of Costa Rica or the clinical depression that is St. Vincent's University Hospital in Dublin, but there's one horrifying incident that neither of us like to talk about. Until now. So allow me, if I may, to take you to a horrible place, a place far darker than any jungle or sick ward, a place I like to call Pentagon City Mall.

fig. 1 I can't believe I never noticed how much that elevator shaft looks like a cock.

It's a beautiful fall day, sunny, crisp but not too cold, and, fresh from brunch and a trip to H&M (where I got an AWESOME sweater), we decide to head to the mall to find Anna an outfit for the evening. Eventually we find ourselves at Bebe, where, after much browsing, Anna locates a totally cute top - which looking back was kind of expensive and I'm wondering if she ever wore it again, but still, cute - and heads for the long line at the checkout. Blood sugar running low, she requests that I head to the food court and get her a soda. I happily agree, and it is at this point that our dark, twisted saga begins.

I head down to the food court and grab a diet coke from that weird cookie place by the entrance. Under the impression that Anna is to meet me, I stand around awkwardly and wait for her imminent arrival, holding a frigid soft drink which I have absolutely no interest in. Ten minutes passes. No Anna. I tell myself that nothing's wrong, that that line was pretty long. Fifteen minutes. Then twenty. Finally, sensing a problem, I pull out my phone. Dead. Mild panic.

Thirty minutes. At this point the evening is kicking in, and waves of AWFUL teenagers are flooding in the doors. I'm briefly distracted by a really hot Scandinavian kid who, looking back, was possibly underage (sorry!). I consider going to Bebe, but worry of course that she will arrive at my exact location shortly thereafter. I decide against it. Forty minutes. I eye the Verizon kiosk. Walk over. Ask for a charge. No deal. But, but... No deal. Look around frantically. Tear up.

Fifty minutes. I walk over to the wall of pay phones. The concentration of teenagers here is intense, given its relative proximity to Forever 21. Kind of repulsed. Place a collect call to my mother in the hopes that she somehow could locate Anna's phone number. No answer. Return to my post at the food court. Still tearing up. One hour. No Anna. Full panic. Pace back and forth. Stare up at the walkway near Bebe. Consider going there again. Decide against it. One hour, fifteen minutes. Secretly crying, at least inside. But then...

Eureka! I literally run out of the mall, possibly pushing children out of my way so blind am I with panic, and eventually find myself at Best Buy. Locate my phone, unplug the display model, plug in my mine, it works - saved! Call Anna's phone.

Dead.

Resume panic.

At this point things are blurry, I know I called our friend Bianca, and perhaps at some point in time I actually spoke with the elusive Anna, but all I really remember is finding ourselves outside by the metro, both teary, vowing never to speak of the incident again. I drink the diet coke, because it turns out she wanted regular. We go to Marshall's to find pants. They're all ugly. Catch a cab to Urban. Cute jeans. Cute jacket. Redemption!

Apologies for the length of this story, or even just for telling it, as it quite possibly has comedic value only between me and Anna (who's possibly the only person who reads this blog anyway), but I found it rather cathartic, and not only that, some important life lessons can be gleaned from it. Lessons such as:

1. If possible, never go to Pentagon City.
2. If you lose your tall, vulnerable friend in the mall, don't tell the security guards that "mean boys might have gotten him." This will only lead to thinly-veiled attempts by said security guards to get in your pants. You can thank Anna for that one.
3. If you're separated from your friend in the mall and your phone dies, go to the local Best Buy or other big-box electronic store to charge it. When the staff looks at you quizzically, just get really upset and yell near-inaudibly about your diabetic friend who has low blood sugar and might be dead somewhere in the adjoining building. They'll back off, trust me.

I hope this has been as helpful for you as it has been for me.