I found myself laying in the middle of the street one evening. It was Flatbush, to be exact, in north Brooklyn, and I also found the entire contents of my pockets spread out around me. There wasn’t any visible blood, but I feel like there must have been. I later discovered a medium-sized cut on the back of my head.
What I did next was quite simple, compared to the questionably interesting (namely drunken) events that led me to this predicament. I gathered my things quickly to avoid the cab driver now exiting his vehicle a few yards down the road, assured the onlookers (it was 3 am, so there were few) that I was, in fact, okay, and then I ran home as fast as I could with out falling over in my possibly very concussed state.
How I ended up there was not surprising, especially for those who know me. After work, the evening started amicably enough at the local office bar. O’Riley’s, for those who don’t know, has a reputation of starting slowly but often ending aggressively. This night would be a case study. Upon finishing our platter and watching a colleague attempt to best a ‘Das Boot,’ (It wasn’t me, I promise) we decided to stay for an extra round. This, of course, turned into two or three. Or maybe four or five.
Eventually, one member of our party got an invitation to drink at a hotel bar on 55th street. Things devolved quickly at this point. We began consuming heavy amounts of very powerful spirits, and this led to a number of drunk texts (lucky you if you got one).
After the last one of these, my time frame for the night disappears. What happened next is merely speculation till the reports come in, and hopefully they never do. But I do recall that I was asked politely to leave the bar with my current mistress for disturbing the other patrons. We did oblige. I found myself in a cab. Things were going well until I looked up to discover I was in the Bronx (not a good place to look up and find yourself in).
But anyway, we were at her house. I informed her that I would be coming upstairs, assuming she had a basic sense of decorum. She then decided to inform me that her parents were home and that it wasn’t a good idea. I, as politely as possible, refrained from strangling her for bringing me all the way out there, then politely asked the driver to bring me back home as quickly as possible.
$40 later I was in front of my building. I handed him a wad of cash and headed for the cab door. He locked it and sped away with me inside. He wouldn’t be fooled, this one. I then swiped my card, and went for the door again. Again, he sped away. I didn’t ‘Accept payment, ‘ though this time it was not on purpose.
Now, I was consciously doing my best to adequately pay this man his money owed. But remember, I was under the spell of some very serious spirits and had lost much of my higher reasoning. At this point I felt confident that the payment had gone through and began yelling at him to turn around. He refused. I got nervous and yelled louder. He said something but I couldn’t understand him or hear him and I panicked. I went for the door. He locked it, I started pulling on it fast. I finally got the door open; he yelled something but I didn’t listen and I went for it. I jumped. Fell, rather.
It’s not as easy as it looks in the movies. It’s even harder drunk. I blew it and.landed on my feet. The force felled me backwards and had me land flat on the back my head. And as I mentioner earlier, everything came out of my pockets, which was a surprising twist I hadn’t really banked on. I found my way home, though I can’t say safely considering all that had happened. I remember seriously fearing falling asleep, afraid that I might not wake up. I did however get to sleep shortly afterward and indeed woke up, but it was quite late. I was late for work. Oh yea, this all happened on a Wednesday…