When the NYPD comes knockin'...get a deadbolt.
This one's a doozy and it's all true. All true. It's worth the read. Just trust me.
Last Saturday was probably, scratch that, definitely the most absurd day of my life. I'm not even going to have to embellish this story with lavish language to make it interesting. It literally tells itself, well not literally, that would be CRAZY, but you get the point.
It all started about midway through my brunch shift when a friend whom (correct usage?) I hadn't seen in months walked into my restaurant, saw me standing behind the bar, and reacted as if he knew I was going to be there, no surprise to him. I, on the other hand was shocked and happy to see him, blah blah, this is the boring part of the story, but I was initially thrown off this day by the fact that I couldn't figure out how this guy knew I worked at this restaurant (facebook?), or if he even knew I worked at this restaurant at all and why do I keep saying "this restaurant"...still mulling it over. Anyway, we were pretty much dead at the restaurant all afternoon and I expected to get home early, when at 3:30, half an hour before my shift normally ends, we were suddenly SLAMMED. I don't know why or how, but when one party of 8 decide they're in the mood for eggs benedict, three more parties of 8 are suddenly hit with an urge for brunch potatoes and all congregate at the same cafe. So weird. Needless to say, I finally got off, an hour late, and headed home exhausted and a little strung out from my strange day. I figured, I'd go home, rampage clean my apartment(vacuum, dishes, AND the toilet) have a beer, and go to bed... Is it always these nights that end up in mayhem or is it just me?
I get off the train to a message on my cell phone from Evan, informing me that he would be coming over at 8 with a few bottles of Blush and a smile. "Wait a minute, had we plaaaanned on having a slumber tonk (aka binge drinking, photo shoots, outfits, and faux southern dialects)tonight?" I thought to myself as I vacuumed and waited for him to get to my house. "I don't think sooooo... hmmmm"
KNOCK.KNOCK.KNOCK.
"Oh it must be Evan, how'd he get in without buzzing?" I most likely exclaimed aloud.
"Who is it?" I chirped.
"NYPD." a voice barked back.
Dramatic pause...
... Dramatic pause
Dramatic pause...
"Ummm, what?" I asked, of course.
"NYPD, you didn't do anything we just need to ask you a question."
At this point, I opened the door. Anyway, before I lead you on any longer and end up throwing you off with my anti-climactic ending...wait, am I doing that right now?... The cops came to my house to ask if I'd seen my neighbor. Which I hadn't for awhile. But the NYPD still think he's alive. Just so ya know.
Next Chapter.
Around this time, Evan finally arrived with a couple of bottles of Three Buck Chuck Blush (if you haven't, you must!) and we immediately pulled out the fine wine glasses and a few ice cubes. (NO one likes a luke-warm Blush.) We quickly consumed the two bottles, no surprise, and headed out to the wine store up the road for a few more. This was bound to be a classy evening.
I was pleased to see when we walked through the door that my favorite employee at The Winery was working that night and made sure to chat her up before we left. She told Evan and me how happy she was that she'd waited until 21 to start drinking and having sex because she didn't know how she felt about abortion and her mom probably wouldn't have paid for it anyway and that's why she's glad that she masturbates and she told everyone in her sex ed class when she was 15 that she masturbates and everyone thought she was crazy but she didn't get why because everyone does it and it won't get you pregnant. Oh, and, she also wondered why Britney Spears didn't just have an abortion. Her career is over.
Trust me. The sentiment you feel after reading that is slight compared to the joy of hearing it live.
And the craziness continues.
When we arrived back at my apartment we went ahead and finished another bottle, it's Indian Summer, a Blush is the only thing to cool ya off, and decided to give my jacuzzi tub a spin... Don't get crazy ideas here people, every time I've re-told this story, listeners have gasped at this point, no no no, I put on my amazing bathing suit and Evan wore some leggings. We made a bubble bath and went swimming. I'm glad we didn't drown. Then we drunkenly got out and I put my dress back on and Evan put on my blue furry robe with clouds all over it. We drank some more and Evan decided it would be a fun idea to run out my front door and play dead on my steps.
Not a very funny thing to do when you consider the fact that a few hours earlier the NYPD had been at my door searching for my neighbors. I digress.
I ran out after him and, in my drunken state, completely failed to remember... my front door locks AUTOMATICALLY. The thought came immediately rushing back when I heard the door close behind me, but at that point, it was, of course, too late. We were locked out of my apartment at 1:30 in morning, wearing a house dress and a blue robe and, don't let me forget to mention that my hair was in pigtails and Evan had done my makeup...see Bette Davis in "Whatever Happened to Baby Jane" for reference... Frantic, I decided that knocking on neighbors' doors was the solution. Would you answer your door at 1:30 in the morning to what appeared to be a cracked out prostitute and her john? Well, my 4th floor neighbor would. I politely asked to use his phone and called 411 for a locksmith. Realizing I didn't know of any locksmith in the area I simply asked for "locksmith" "harlem" and was promptly hung up on. A lost cause. I told my neighbor I'd bring him 20 bucks for using his 411 (which reminds me... I need to do that.) and ran back downstairs with a new plan in mind. I'd ask someone on the street... in Harlem...at 1:30 in the morning... to come up to my apartment... and find a way to open the door. GREAT plan! Luckily, when I reached the street I noticed two young gents walking by and drunkenly stumbled up to them, or maybe I just yelled from the doorway, and asked them if they had a credit card. Of course, they had credit cards! This was their first night in New York City, they'd just landed from Paris that morning and were staying at the hostel around the corner. TOTALLY TRUSTWORTHY. Yeah! I'd let em up to my place toooooo...
Okay, so we get upstairs and one of them goes to work on the door and in about 45 seconds he has it open and we're safe inside. (Can I mention once more that the NYPD had come by earlier and that it apparently take .2 seconds to break into my apartment...with a credit card? I digress again.) Being the polite Midwestern lad and Southern belle we are, Evan and I invited our saviors in for a few glasses of blush and conversation. We invited an old friend over (that's a story in itself), played some truth or dare, found out that French people listen to shitty shitty music, have similar problems as 20 somethings here in America, and don't know how to play 7th grade party games, and finally called it a night.
The rest is history.
Like I said, last Saturday was the craziest night of my life and I'm not sure how to top it. Kerry, my roommate got home a day later and, after hearing about my adventure, promptly contacted a locksmith, he knows how to do that, and had deadbolts installed. So, here I am, safe and sound in my little Harlem nook having gained some French friends, fun memories, and a greater understanding of life itself!
Last Saturday was probably, scratch that, definitely the most absurd day of my life. I'm not even going to have to embellish this story with lavish language to make it interesting. It literally tells itself, well not literally, that would be CRAZY, but you get the point.
It all started about midway through my brunch shift when a friend whom (correct usage?) I hadn't seen in months walked into my restaurant, saw me standing behind the bar, and reacted as if he knew I was going to be there, no surprise to him. I, on the other hand was shocked and happy to see him, blah blah, this is the boring part of the story, but I was initially thrown off this day by the fact that I couldn't figure out how this guy knew I worked at this restaurant (facebook?), or if he even knew I worked at this restaurant at all and why do I keep saying "this restaurant"...still mulling it over. Anyway, we were pretty much dead at the restaurant all afternoon and I expected to get home early, when at 3:30, half an hour before my shift normally ends, we were suddenly SLAMMED. I don't know why or how, but when one party of 8 decide they're in the mood for eggs benedict, three more parties of 8 are suddenly hit with an urge for brunch potatoes and all congregate at the same cafe. So weird. Needless to say, I finally got off, an hour late, and headed home exhausted and a little strung out from my strange day. I figured, I'd go home, rampage clean my apartment(vacuum, dishes, AND the toilet) have a beer, and go to bed... Is it always these nights that end up in mayhem or is it just me?
I get off the train to a message on my cell phone from Evan, informing me that he would be coming over at 8 with a few bottles of Blush and a smile. "Wait a minute, had we plaaaanned on having a slumber tonk (aka binge drinking, photo shoots, outfits, and faux southern dialects)tonight?" I thought to myself as I vacuumed and waited for him to get to my house. "I don't think sooooo... hmmmm"
KNOCK.KNOCK.KNOCK.
"Oh it must be Evan, how'd he get in without buzzing?" I most likely exclaimed aloud.
"Who is it?" I chirped.
"NYPD." a voice barked back.
Dramatic pause...
... Dramatic pause
Dramatic pause...
"Ummm, what?" I asked, of course.
"NYPD, you didn't do anything we just need to ask you a question."
At this point, I opened the door. Anyway, before I lead you on any longer and end up throwing you off with my anti-climactic ending...wait, am I doing that right now?... The cops came to my house to ask if I'd seen my neighbor. Which I hadn't for awhile. But the NYPD still think he's alive. Just so ya know.
Next Chapter.
Around this time, Evan finally arrived with a couple of bottles of Three Buck Chuck Blush (if you haven't, you must!) and we immediately pulled out the fine wine glasses and a few ice cubes. (NO one likes a luke-warm Blush.) We quickly consumed the two bottles, no surprise, and headed out to the wine store up the road for a few more. This was bound to be a classy evening.
I was pleased to see when we walked through the door that my favorite employee at The Winery was working that night and made sure to chat her up before we left. She told Evan and me how happy she was that she'd waited until 21 to start drinking and having sex because she didn't know how she felt about abortion and her mom probably wouldn't have paid for it anyway and that's why she's glad that she masturbates and she told everyone in her sex ed class when she was 15 that she masturbates and everyone thought she was crazy but she didn't get why because everyone does it and it won't get you pregnant. Oh, and, she also wondered why Britney Spears didn't just have an abortion. Her career is over.
Trust me. The sentiment you feel after reading that is slight compared to the joy of hearing it live.
And the craziness continues.
When we arrived back at my apartment we went ahead and finished another bottle, it's Indian Summer, a Blush is the only thing to cool ya off, and decided to give my jacuzzi tub a spin... Don't get crazy ideas here people, every time I've re-told this story, listeners have gasped at this point, no no no, I put on my amazing bathing suit and Evan wore some leggings. We made a bubble bath and went swimming. I'm glad we didn't drown. Then we drunkenly got out and I put my dress back on and Evan put on my blue furry robe with clouds all over it. We drank some more and Evan decided it would be a fun idea to run out my front door and play dead on my steps.
Not a very funny thing to do when you consider the fact that a few hours earlier the NYPD had been at my door searching for my neighbors. I digress.
I ran out after him and, in my drunken state, completely failed to remember... my front door locks AUTOMATICALLY. The thought came immediately rushing back when I heard the door close behind me, but at that point, it was, of course, too late. We were locked out of my apartment at 1:30 in morning, wearing a house dress and a blue robe and, don't let me forget to mention that my hair was in pigtails and Evan had done my makeup...see Bette Davis in "Whatever Happened to Baby Jane" for reference... Frantic, I decided that knocking on neighbors' doors was the solution. Would you answer your door at 1:30 in the morning to what appeared to be a cracked out prostitute and her john? Well, my 4th floor neighbor would. I politely asked to use his phone and called 411 for a locksmith. Realizing I didn't know of any locksmith in the area I simply asked for "locksmith" "harlem" and was promptly hung up on. A lost cause. I told my neighbor I'd bring him 20 bucks for using his 411 (which reminds me... I need to do that.) and ran back downstairs with a new plan in mind. I'd ask someone on the street... in Harlem...at 1:30 in the morning... to come up to my apartment... and find a way to open the door. GREAT plan! Luckily, when I reached the street I noticed two young gents walking by and drunkenly stumbled up to them, or maybe I just yelled from the doorway, and asked them if they had a credit card. Of course, they had credit cards! This was their first night in New York City, they'd just landed from Paris that morning and were staying at the hostel around the corner. TOTALLY TRUSTWORTHY. Yeah! I'd let em up to my place toooooo...
Okay, so we get upstairs and one of them goes to work on the door and in about 45 seconds he has it open and we're safe inside. (Can I mention once more that the NYPD had come by earlier and that it apparently take .2 seconds to break into my apartment...with a credit card? I digress again.) Being the polite Midwestern lad and Southern belle we are, Evan and I invited our saviors in for a few glasses of blush and conversation. We invited an old friend over (that's a story in itself), played some truth or dare, found out that French people listen to shitty shitty music, have similar problems as 20 somethings here in America, and don't know how to play 7th grade party games, and finally called it a night.
The rest is history.
Like I said, last Saturday was the craziest night of my life and I'm not sure how to top it. Kerry, my roommate got home a day later and, after hearing about my adventure, promptly contacted a locksmith, he knows how to do that, and had deadbolts installed. So, here I am, safe and sound in my little Harlem nook having gained some French friends, fun memories, and a greater understanding of life itself!
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