Denver with a side of Murphy

Murphy, that invisible magician-of-all-that-can-go-wrong, has me in the cross-hairs.

Last week, I went to a conference in Denver. I had never been to Denver before, nor had I ever been to this particular conference. I packed carefully, almost obsessively. At the last moment, I went to pack my laptop. My bag wasn't where I usually left it. Then again, my usual place changes periodically and I wasn't sure what the usual place du jour was. I searched the house. Ah-hah! Found it in my son's old room. It wasn't until I was on the plane, departing Dallas, that I realized it was my son's computer bag, not mine, and the white cord in the side pocket was not – as I had thought – my phone charger, but rather the cord to a camera that no one in the family has any more. And my phone was down to a 30% charge.

"Oh well," thought I, chalking one up for Murphy, "I'll just pop into a store in Denver and buy another one."

My friend Jody met me at the airport in Denver; he had flown in earlier in order to visit with his sister, Shannon, before the conference. We drove straight to the conference hotel from the airport in order to enjoy the opening ceremonies. It was late by the time we made our way in the rental car over to Shannon's house, where we were staying. I plopped my suitcase down on the bed in the room I was to use, and pushed a cat out of the way. The cat ignored me and returned to his spot.

A second cat walked into the room. I love cats, so I just unpacked around them. That was when I realized I had forgotten to bring any socks or hose for the conference. "Oh well," thought I, shaking my head, "I'll just get some more when I get the phone charger." And I shooed the cats out, shut the door and climbed into bed.

About thirty minutes later, I climbed back out of bed, opened the door and conceded to the cats that yes, indeed, they had been there first and begged them to please, please come on in and stop that incessant yowling.

The following afternoon (after a truly fantastic day of Murphy-free workshops), Jody and I left the conference hotel to return to Shannon's, intending to stop at a corner drugstore somewhere along the way.

Let me say right now that the people of Denver are amazingly nice to strangers. In the course of four days, only one person honked their horn at us as we zigzagged through the streets trying to get our bearings (and I secretly suspect that person was also from out of town.) But that day, in our search for a drugstore, we took a wrong turn. Next thing we knew, we were cruising streets with taverns, tattoo parlors and not a single drugstore. We passed gas stations, massage parlors, a couple of D-list fast-food joints and one place that might have been a tiny brothel or a nail salon with a twist. I couldn't tell.

As I tried to figure out the GPS system in our rented car, Jody turned into what appeared to be an industrial district. Two men in hard-hats were leaving a building. One seemed to be heading for the parking lot on the opposite side of the street. With a mighty swerve, we screeched up to the sidewalk just before the man could step down. I reached out to lower my window and ask for directions – and accidentally hit the lock. Click! All four locks shot down. I tried the window again. It didn't move. "I'll get it!" said Jody, determinedly hitting a button on his side of the car. The windows did not budge. Nor did the startled man we had hoped would rescue us.

I glanced at Jody and realized the button he was punching was the child window lock. At that, we both collapsed in laughter, Hard Hat man began inching away from our car, and we decided that the better part of wisdom was to beat a hasty exit.

If you ever hear a Denver factory worker tell of the day he narrowly escaped two lunatics in a rental car, please tell him we're sorry.

In the absence of drugstores, we settled for a Family Dollar store; no phone chargers, but I got some hose for the next day. "I'll try again tomorrow," I thought.

The next day once more failed to yield a drugstore. A friend at the conference had the same type of phone as mine, and offered to charge it for me. Score one for me. That night, as we drove the streets of Denver trying to find a restaurant we'd been recommended, we passed drugstores. And phone stores. And electronics stores. Phone chargers galore were in reach, but I no longer needed them - so instead, we accidentally entered the on-ramp to a freeway, during rush hour, and found it impossible to get back off for several miles. When we finally did exit, we found ourselves at the county jail. Score another one for Murph.

After the conference ended, Jody stayed at his sister's a little longer and I took off for the airport. Security was relatively quick. I found some lunch, settled into a chair in the waiting lounge and congratulated myself on how smoothly things were going. Spotting a man from the conference, I waved and called, "Hi Michael!" No response. He was busy talking to the woman beside him – and she wasn't the one he'd introduced as his wife at the conference. I quit waving. 

A little later, as I wandered the lounge, I saw them coming toward me. "Oh well," I thought, "None of my business who he's with," and I made my smile warmer and my wave even more direct. The man turned. It wasn't Michael after all. His wife caught sight of my enthusiastic hello and turned a scowl on the hapless man.

Beating another hasty retreat, I took refuge in the ladies' room.

If you happen to hear a man who looks like Michael tell of the overly friendly stranger who got him in hot water with his wife at the Denver airport, please tell him I'm sorry and that it's really not my fault. 

It's just that I'm stuck in Murphy's cross-hairs.