I changed into my dancing clothes before I left work to meet Kathleen and Lisa for dinner pre-class. Long story short, I really screwed up and left my bag full of work clothes at the restaurant. I didn't even notice until I was home from the class and in my pyjamas.
First thing this morning I was still responding to my mistake with a reasonable, "Well, it's okay … it wasn't my wallet!" Two hours later, I called the restaurant. The woman I talked to put me on hold for a few minutes before telling me she'd looked around and just couldn't seem to see the bag anywhere. She'd call me if it turned up. I whined in Andrea's general direction, "Boo hoo hoo, I really liked those pants." Ten minutes later, "Who the fuck would take a bag of someone's dirty clothes?" Two hours after that, no phone call and this is what Andrea was suffering through:
"… that was the best black turtleneck EVER. *sob*"
Group consensus determined the best approach was to physically go there and look myself. Carla loaned me her Metropass so off I went to the seriously inconveniently located (for lunch time travel) establishment. I presented myself to the woman I'd talked to earlier and as nicely as possible suggested hell would freeze over before I left without seeing her take a look around for my damn bag.
Instead of taking a look around, the woman proceeds to make a huge production out of calling the guy who worked last night as if to prove to me that the bag of clothes simply was not in the possession of the restaurant, and wow lady you are being SUCH a massive asshole right now. She gets off the phone, peers under the cash register – where she's been standing the entire time – and retrieves the bag.
You silly, silly, silly c*nt.
The only thing that held me back from assaulting her was the fact that I was only in this ridiculous situation as a result of my own stupidity. Still, KOS in Kensington Market, you suck. Though I did enjoy your french toast with fruits. Bastards.