The Great Escape

The first leg of the Garnet Stevens “Me, Myself and MRI” World Tour came to an end today.  After a sold-out show in New York, followed by a performance in Hershey, featuring a surprise Roxette reunion, Team Garnet wrapped up the week with a gig in Maryland (Hello, Bethesda!).  We went for a second opinion and we nearly left with a first offense.

A few days ago, when we kicked off the tour, we talked about the grueling itinerary for the week and my sister suggested celebrating a successful fact-finding mission.  She offered up a bottle of champagne and I forgot to take her up on the gesture after the NYC experience and she returned the forgetfulness after the happenings at Hershey.  When we were planning Friday’s finale, both of us agreed that the bottle of champagne would be joining us.  Neither of us realized that the United States Government had other plans.

At approximately 8:15 this morning, my wife and I got a call from my sister, who had taken a painfully early train from the Big Apple.  She was standing outside NIH because she had failed the security screening and she wondered if we could pick her up upon arrival. As we pulled up to the medical research center, we saw the reason why my sister was denied entry. Apparently, you are not allowed to bring a bottle of alcohol onto the campus.  My sister did not bring one bottle. She brought two.

After walking onto NIH grounds did not work, we went to Plan B, which involved Amy in our vehicle with her bubbly baggage.  That was just as unsuccessful.  A very large, very serious and very large (he was big enough that I needed to mention it twice) security guard informed the three of us that alcohol was not permitted on the premises and we would have to leave to dispose of the contraband.  In the interest of time, we quickly found a trash can just outside of the main entrance, disposed of the bootleg booze and rushed to return to security.  A short apology later, we passed go, collected $200 and went to take our chances at the research clinic.

During the next few hours, the downtime between neurological examinations was filled with jokes about the FBI having a file on us, the CIA listening in to our jokes about the FBI and whether or not we violated recycling rules by not emptying the bottles before tossing them into the trash can.  When we left NIH at 3:30, I sarcastically said that we should drive past the garbage can and see if the bottles were still there.  If we would have simply caught a green light at that intersection, history would have been different.

As soon as the light turned yellow, I heard the back passenger door open.  Before the light changed to red, I saw a blur pass by the front of our SUV.  I f Usain Bolt is the fastest man in the world , then Insane Bolt was the fastest woman in the left turn lane.  With a puffy coat cutting through the January cold, my sister dashed to the scene of the disposal.

As my wife and I nervously waited for the light to turn green, my sister left our sight.  Tricia and I debated whether we should wait, follow her or just hope that NIH security had forgotten our license plate number.  Before we could formulate our escape plan, we saw a figure in our peripheral vision: An otherwise respected professional, who is admired by her peers, frantically fleeing down a busy Bethesda boulevard, carrying a pair of champagne bottles, while bystanders stare at her in disbelief, wondering why this well-dressed person was digging in a trash can and how she knew the bottles were there in the first place.

Yes, we wiped off the bottles.
Yes, we made it home without being questioned.
Yes, I’m strangely proud of my sister.

Keeping the faith and raising a glass.

Garnet