There is a certain organization with whom I would really like a job, and although I am fairly certain they do not want to give me one, I don't let minor details like that deter me from going for it. This organization hosts events on a regular basis, but the majority of them are on the evenings I have language classes, so I have not been able to attend them recently. Finally one opened up on an evening I was free, so god almighty, I was going. I got off work later than intended, and then needed to catch a bus from Fremont to Queen Anne. There is no convenient way to do this, and it was my first time making that journey. I had tried to be careful with the planning, but I missed the bus written on my route. I sort of knew where I was going... and my personality on adrenaline has waning amounts of patience. I hopped on the next bus bound for downtown, chatted up the bus driver, and made a Plan B. I easily found the stop with the buses headed for Queen Anne, but I knew one was going to be better than the other. A bus pulled up, I asked the bus driver if he could take me where I wanted to go, and his only reply was that there were two buses going up Queen Anne, and I missed the first, so I better get on this one. That was good enough for me, vamanos!

I pulled out my iPhone and GPS'ed while I was on the bus - it kind of felt like gambling, in the sense that maybe I would get lucky enough to get dropped off in front of my destination, but also maybe not. A few unexpected turns on the map kept the excitement of that going, until I realized I was on the not-as-convenient-route, and I had also ridden past the best point to get off. Luckily it was not raining that night, but it was still very dark, very wet, and very full of leaves. My little ballet flats were no match for the treacherous sidewalks of Queen Anne.

I continued to GPS as I was walking, and the next street to cross over to Queen Anne Ave was not so close. However, I did see some stairs. These stairs, I recognized. Over the summer some friends I decided to do an "urban hike" we read about in a magazine. One of the ones featured was a "workout" hike including as many sets of stairs in Queen Anne as possible. These stairs were EXACTLY the ones in the photo. I decided a little sweat never hurt anyone, so I went for it. I was slightly scared because it was pretty dark, but I figured Queen Anne is a nice neighborhood, and if I kept moving really quickly I would probably be okay. I made it to the top a little sweaty and out of breath, but satisfied. I was now very close to the wine and chocolate tasting, although a little late. I was still moving quickly, GPS in hand, when I finally got my comeuppance for enough rash decisions. I tripped at high speed, iPhone flying into the dark (my greatest of all fears being realized), backpack full of Spanish and Arabic textbooks jostling over my head, and landed on my hands and one knee. I had ripped my leggings, skinned my knee, and both my palms were oozing fat droplets of dark red blood. Oh my, was I embarrassed. I was also 1.5 blocks from the chocolate shop - could I really give up now? My iPhone still functioned. So did I.

I rolled my legwarmers - I will be the first person in 20 years to say thank goodness for legwarmers - over the leggings to at least cover the tatteredness, and went semi-full-speed ahead. I walked in late, frazzled, bleeding, and in hopes of a job. Good plan. The man who worked there was so polished and polite, my embarrassment escalated. He was very friendly though, and got me a first aid kit, and after I was done disinfecting he caught me up with the chocolate discussion and tastings. When it came time to mingle, I was still so frazzled I couldn't really approach anyone, and as a result only creepy older men talked to me, so the job networking was not so much happening.

In the end, I did manage to talk to enough people, including the couple who owned the shop, to still be the last one to leave. The owner asked me to take all the rest of the samples, so I headed out with a bag full of artisan chocolate. My next bus driver had to wait for me to run and catch the bus, and I ended up giving him half my bag of chocolate - mostly because I didn't want to take that much chocolate home anyway, but also to be a friend.

My satisfaction from this experience comes not from the fact that I ended up with a new job, or because I made a lot of valuable connections (neither of these happened), or because I ended up with a ridiculous amount of expensive chocolate. It is because I never gave up. It would have been so easy to go straight home after work, especially since I didn't know the bus route, and the majority of the time I take a new route, I end up in some state of disarray, be it rain, ending up at the terminal, or a skinned knee. It would have been so easy to turn around at any point in my trip - getting on the wrong bus, falling over, while creepy man was giving me his business card. But I was still the last one there.