Episode 1: Pilot | It's Our Scene
I’m running late. If I have only one job tonight as a hostess, it is to show up on time. When I was a little girl—in a grass-stained dress and hair slicked back in an oily braid—I remember my mom sharing a piece of wisdom…
“It’s Murphy’s law.” She said,
“What?”
“Anything that can go wrong will go wrong…”
Little me had no clue. I shrugged it off like it was my mom babbling crazy again. He often paid me a visit ever since.
I was supposed to arrive home at a certain time. I had an entire morning and early afternoon well-thought-out and planned…
An extra stop was added last minute…
The cashier line was inconveniently long…
Our food from our local vegan deli spot took longer to come out…
Cars on the highway started to press on their brakes and slow down…
I made it home with barely fifteen minutes to spare. I have to do my skincare, do my hair, do my makeup, find an outfit, and get dressed in those fifteen minutes (that have now gone down to ten because I spent five panicking).
It felt impossible, but I did it. I feel semi-satisfied with my rushed work. I glance at the time.
If we leave right now, we should be able to get there right on the dot. I think.
“I’m ready.” I text.
Seconds go by. No response.
“Hello? Where are you?” I text again,
Nothing.
I glance at the clock and see the minute change.
My driver is MIA. People are texting me their arrival and asking me where I am. I blow up his phone. I spam the group chat we are both in. I repeat call him. I set my phone down for a second and begin panic organizing anything miscellaneous I find in my room.
Ping!
Here. The message reads.
I run as fast as my flip-flop wedges can allow me.
“Where were you?!” I exclaim after slamming the car door shut and buckling myself in.
“Sorry!” Jeremiah, my boyfriend, says. “I had to…take out my dog.”
I glare at him. “Are you serious?.”
We need to rewind because…how did I get here in the first place?
Previously, I was in a girl group. We all knew each other through one mutual and that same mutual was the only reason that the group lasted as long as it did. There wasn’t much of a foundation, but I digress. One girl excommunicated me because she believed I held a party on the same night as her birthday. Her reasoning? Because I wasn’t invited to the pre-game she had everyone else go to. One of those things is true, and it’s the one where I did find out I had not been invited to the pre-party of her clubbing meet-up. However, the reason I did not go is because I did not care to spend a stupid amount of money to celebrate with somebody who never hung out with me privately or had personal conversations with me. We were never close. That’s why I did not attend. I also never had a party on the same night. She saw me posting on my IG stories a friend hangout at the apartment (but she also had a messy birthday party anyway and had a falling out with another girl in the same group for even dumber reasons, so frankly, I stopped caring). The group fell even more apart when another girl betrayed my trust and to my face said she was pretending to be my friend. Even with all that drama, I bounced back into the friendship dating market and took all the lessons I learned from that group with me:
I am entering my hosting girl era (or at least trying to).
Before hosting a night out was even a thing, I had to put myself through exposure. Since my pool of friends had decreased numbers, I needed to find myself in a social third space where I could build small talk and then turn it into deep connection. Before I did that, I needed to figure out how to get past being alone in social settings.
So, I did what anyone does on a Saturday night after playing in my makeup drawers for too long…
I slapped on my best red lipstick and a cute red off-the-shoulder crop top and drove my anxious self to an upscale restaurant lounge/bar. I gave myself an hour. I will be arriving at 9 pm. The restaurant closes at 10. My task? Sit comfortably by myself. Bonus points if you have a small conversation with the bartenders.
Apparently, Murphy wanted to be my restaurant date...
When I stepped out of the car, I quickly realized my heels were on the wrong feet. I glanced down and saw the obvious mistake. I couldn’t sit back in my car to fix the issue because the valet boys had taken my keys and drove off. I had to walk to the restaurant and in front of everybody take my shoes off and put them on the correct feet.
I tend to spill things or make a mess when I’m nervous/anxious. I thought the world was on my side for a second when I caught my drink, but minutes later, I started choking on the first sip. It went down the wrong pipe. I flashed back to the times I was in a quiet classroom and felt an itch in my throat that seconds later turned into a dry cough. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole.
At one point, I had gone to the bathroom and had no place to set my book down. So I moved it over to a little table against the wall beside the line of women waiting their turn. As I returned to the sink, I noticed the ladies follow my hand movement and stare at the book for seconds before resuming the hushed conversation. It felt a little embarrassing hearing one of the girls comment on why I had a book here.
Despite me being fashionably late to my own event and being the most awkward hostess as I greeted everybody, everything went well. Murphy gave me a break.
I did not take many pictures that night, but the good thing about being an outfit repeater is that you have other outings to make up for such a good fit.
Can you believe my entire outfit down to the jewelry is thrifted? Style, baby!
Cause a scene! Xoxo,
Savannah