I lost my OneCard on Friday, the day after the crazy, random party in Safford, somewhere between my room and dinner in Prospect (pizza, I deserved it).
Considering my record, it is a wonder I didn’t drop the card in the dark the night before, back and forth between Safford and the ‘Delles, far beyond punch drunk. Hours before, on my way upstairs after a quiet, gourmet dinner at Melissa’s apartment, I was hijacked into a party where I ended up drinking a lot-dka vodka instead of catching up on homework. The truth is, I didn’t even have it with me at that point. I was relying on Ally to get me back inside!
My lost OneCard moments happen multiple times a day. It’s nothing knew if I have to retrace my steps, toss clothes around the room or dump the contents of every bag I own in a mad search. Naturally, people assumed that I’m scanning the sidewalk with my headlamp outside of Safford because I lost it during the escapades of the night before. They smile sympathetically, not because they’re in the pool betting on how many times I will have to look for it this week, but because I must have had a wild night (it’s a small dorm, everyone had a wild night.)
Luckily, Public Safety doesn’t ask questions unless you’re actually sauced when you show up to get a temporary card for the weekend. And I found my real OneCard on the closet floor about ten minutes after I got the temp, as if I had tossed it toward the laundry basket like a dirty sock. I had to wait until this morning to have it reactivated, and as soon as I got it back, I punched it. You’re not supposed to put holes in your card, but I have lost it for the last time.
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