This morning did not go as planned. Instead of attending meetings with people whose jobs I plan on stealing in the near future, I ended up in the ER with eggplant-coloured, tennis ball-sized ankle. Unfortunately, my morning eight-miler ended seven and a half miles early, with one foot stuck in a sidewalk pothole by the Los Angeles Museum of Contemporary Art. LACMA, expect my lawyers to come after you soon (I’ve been watching way too much Law and Order during my bed rest today).

This evening was also the opening of The Rooftop Cinema Club’s showing of Clueless at the Neuhouse Hotel and of course, I had no intention of missing the teen movie that paved the way for so many other greats. So, after a little cry and enough Tylenol to put a whale to sleep, I started planning my ascent to the Rooftop.

The first task would be finding transportation. I couldn’t take an Uber (I wasn’t in the mood to deal with the wrath of my mother over my poor budgeting) and needed a ride that could hold my 5’11” crutches. Cue Alexandra, CEO of the Coven and owner of a wonderful white Jeep.

Second would be an outfit – one that could successfully detract eyes from my un- pedicured, naked foot. The result? An incredibly loud shift dress, straightened hair and one dope studded gladiator sandal.

The third would be the most important. The ascent. The rooftop overlooks Hollywood and that meant only one thing: a hefty climb. Without an elevator, my dreams of “riding the crimson wave” with Cher would be crushed forever. Upon parking, Alexandra and I were horrified to see hordes of Sandro wearing journalists lining up for a door, with the sign: stairs to the rooftop.

STAIRS? Who the heck thought stairs would be a good idea? What about the women in stilettos? What about the personal trainers who had just squatted two times their body weight (and then sprained an ab tensing for the preceding photo afterwards)? WHAT ABOUT ME?

Just when I thought movie night would become an unattainable dream my miniature life crisis was quickly averted. An incredibly kind and incredibly attractive receptionist (who was also an actress, duh it’s LA) took pity on me, the eagerly limping woman, and showed us the way to the secret elevator. As we reached the rooftop, Alexandra and I high-fived each other, looking back on those we left to fend for themselves and scale the stairs.

We made it. As Alexandra slowly walked and I hobbled to keep up, we were taken aback by the scale of the event. Hundreds of people had made it out for the evening, basking in the golden hour sunlight. Some were already lounging in their picnic chairs to reserve the best view of the projection on the wall ahead. There were the huddles in the corners drinking the canned Rosé and nibbling on the venue’s delicious lobster rolls. There were those who had dressed up for the event in the classic berets and tweed and then there were those , like myself, who made it clear that their priority was the free popcorn at the box office. The line spoke for itself.

As the wireless headphones were passed around the event, Sunset Boulevard basked in the streaming rays of sunlight behind us. Alexandra and I couldn’t help smiling at each other. It may have been one heck of a journey to get there but it was well worth it. The night was flawless, filled with flowing drinks, a classic film and an eclectic crowd. Clueless was also the most Coven choice of film possibly selected: female directed and produced, independent but vulnerable female protagonists and the origin of an entirely new teen vocabulary. Hagsville, jeepin’, buggin’. Rooftop Cinema Club had the winning formula.

Plus, one cute guy told me that the crutches brought out the green in my eyes. And if that alone isn’t a reason enough to carry them around for couple more days, I don’t know what is.

By Sophia Parvizi-Wayne

Duke Student, leader of national campaign on mental health, Cross Country All-ACC, fashion alchemist, Huffington Post writer, and all-around world-runner