Wedding Story
Prep school cathedral. Black tie. Big band reception. Scores of folks coming from near and far to witness us become husband and wife. Now, mind you, this was a four day affair. In the planning stages we did not take into account that we would actually have to sleep at some point during the marathon party. There was the happy hour on Thursday, the bridal luncheon and rehearsal dinner on Friday, the, oh yeah, THE WEDDING on Saturday and the send-off brunch on Sunday. It was at this brunch, between the omelet station and the Mimosa bar, that my new husband and I realized how grateful we were that it was our family that was sending us off.
The day of our wedding went as everyone had said it would, one huge blur. After attending several weddings where it seemed like the bride and groom never had a chance to breathe, much less sit down and enjoy their freshly betrothed status, we made a pact. Our pact was that when dinner was served, we would sit down together, converse, and actually eat that $85/plate petit filet and crabcake dinner our parents had so generously paid for.
Our band. Fantastic. Now when they brought out the feather boas for the ladies and the black derby hats for the guys, I have to admit, I did feel like one lucky girl. I mean, how many women do you know can say that they had a wedding and bat mitzvah all wrapped into one fabulous party? The most important thing to us was that our wedding guests got up and danced. I take that back, not danced, but CUT A RUG. Our family and friends know how to boogie!
I don’t know what the trend is these days, but the year we got married, after-parties were the big fad. Our reception ended at 11pm and there were shuttle buses waiting to take the revelers to the after-party at a posh bar in the hotel the wedding party was staying in. One of our friends from California informed us that the present he had intended to give us was back-ordered so he graciously announced to everyone that he was covering the after-party bar tab. It is this one gracious gesture that I think ultimately led us to the “adventure” we faced later on that night.
Much to many a partygoer’s dismay, last call came around and there was a small group that was not ready for the party to end. After little discussion and virtually no debate, it was decided that we’d cross the district line where the bars stayed open one hour later and stretch out the night a little bit longer. Keep in mind that while I had changed out of my wedding dress, most of the wedding party were still in their dresses and tuxedos.
We created quite a spectacle walking into the bar of unsuspecting barflies, college students, and restaurant workers just getting off of their shift. People were buying us drinks and there were words of congratulations coming from all directions. My husband and I both felt exhausted but there was great energy and we were basking in the glow of it all.
Finally, the lights turned on and the bouncers dutifully began to usher the masses out. Out in front, people were everywhere and of course the majority of them needed a taxi…just like us. A lot of our friends had already gone home or were taking the Metro. Not wanting conflict on our wedding night we weren’t about to get into a scrap with anyone over a cab so we passively kept trying to flag one down.
Finally, a car stopped and we jumped in as fast as we could before someone else could try to abscond with our ride…again. We slammed the doors shut and said, “North, please.” After a deep sigh of relief that we were finally close to crisp sheets and fluffy pillows at our hotel, I looked at the front of the cab and realized there was no meter. Then I realized that we were not in a cab at all, but some stranger’s car! I elbowed my husband and mouthed, “This is not a cab.” There were two very large men sitting in the front and one of them turned around smiled and turned the volume of the techno music they had playing extremely high. Again I looked at my husband and reached for his hand, my nails digging into his skin. All these thoughts started going through my mind. Were we going to be the headline news the next day? “Newlyweds Mysteriously Missing”? What were they planning to do with us? Why did they stop to pick us up in the first place?
The bar was really only about three miles from the hotel. Why hadn’t we just walked? A nice leisurely stroll as husband and wife, talking about our future. But here we were, in the backseat of a car. No idea what was going to happen to us.
It occurred to me that even if we could get them to stop the car, we still would not want them to know where we were staying. At the next red light, over the bass of the music, I shouted, “This is fine! We’re just a block or two away!” The driver turned down the stereo and replied, “Oh, no. We’re happy to take you all the way home. Just tell us where.”
It was at that moment that I turned the door handle, opened the door and practically fell into the sidewalk because my husband was pushing us out as fast as he could. The men drove off, laughing hysterically into the early morning. We looked at eachother and without saying anything, knew that we might not have been so lucky. There are very few times that we talk about what happened at our after-after-after party. And there are even fewer people that we have told this story to, in fact. Maybe it is because we’re a little embarrassed that we found ourselves in that situation in the first place, or perhaps, telling the story makes it become all too real again.
