By Vicki Rogers
I went out to the new over 30ish “Club Ice” here in Tucson last weekend. I knew I had to write this “Momma Said” article, so when I met some girls in the bathroom, I said I would write about our conversation. However, I was already in the “I really don't remember what was said” zone, so guess I will write about what I do remember. I remembered not to drink and drive. So I got the door man to call a cab. I got in and gave him my address. After a few minutes in the cab I looked through my purse and realized I only had seven dollars left. I told this to the cabbie and said when you get to seven dollars just let me out and I will walk the rest. Lucky for me, home was just outside my price range and he took me the rest of the way for free. The next day, I woke up at six a.m. with a hangover and the realization that I had to get my car before I got a ticket for parking in a neighboring lot and before it got hotter than 90 degrees-since it was near 70 already. I dressed quickly-remembering to wear a white shirt and left the house. No hat, no water bottle, no money - not a good choice. I knew where I was going and it wasn't close. The first half mile I didn’t really think about turning back for water and the hat. By the time my first mile was over I was missing that hat and thought I would stop and buy some water at the gas station on Wilmont. Oops no money. Ok no biggie I'll stop at the Burger King across the street. They can't refuse you water in Tucson-umm-not 24 hour. Oh yeah, that's right it's 6:30 Saturday morning. Now my lips are starting to get super dry, but alas no lip-gloss. I've now gotten well into my second mile. I've past Home Town Buffet and the Mall. I hugged the shadows of every stucco wall and tree I passed, thinking, “Why didn't I wake up earlier?” When I got to the busy street of Broadway I was surprised I had the strength to run across it to make the light. Coincidently, the first bus of the day was just passing there too and thought I was running to make the bus stop. It was torture to walk past that open door and feel the cool rush of air-conditioned air try to suck me in. I set my sights on the library a few blocks away, still thinking in an alcoholic stupor that it was open. It wasn't until I saw the homeless guy stripped naked to the waist, washing up in the sprinkler that I realized the water fountain, inside, was out of the question. Mile three. I have said hello the second person of the day, who was wearing black. I felt a bit better. My lips now were peeling and I ran my fingers through my hair trying to get any oil to put on my lips. Gross, but necessary. I tried not to think about how pathetic I was feeling when hundreds of Mexicans cross the desert every month with nothing, pretty much, and I was having a hard time with these few miles. I pursed my lips and went on. When I reached Fairmont, I knew Tanque Verde Road and “Club Ice” were just around the bend. I walked across on a red light and some motorist wheeled past me yelling "Cross with the light!" Yeah well, sorry! In mile four, my feet were burning matches, my eyes were sandpaper, my head had shaken baby syndrome and my fingers were little Vienna Sausages - I wasn't stopping for a red light or traffic. I had walked for an hour and in another fifteen minutes I was unlocking my car door and pulling myself behind the wheel. It took me ten minutes to drive home, lock all my doors and not get up for the rest of the day--except for water.