Friendly Fire

John and I went to get a few drinks after work last friday night and I've encountered something I've never seen before. A grown-ass woman attempting to use a urinal because she was too drunk to realize she was in the wrong bathroom. It started like this...

We were enjoying our drinks and bullshitting about each other's day when this really obnoxious woman rolls in with her equally annoying posse. They're loud, and clearly stumbled in from some other bar and were about a drink away from being cut off. (Which is usually fun to watch - just not an entire group of them.) So as we always do at bars, we find the biggest, hottest mess in the place and continue to make fun of them till we've had our fill... then move on. It's not right, it's not 'nice', but when you're drunk, it sure as hell is fucking funny.

Anyway, I realize it's time for me to pay the bathroom a visit and don't realize I had lost track of Crazy and her crew. I walk into the men's bathroom, which is clearly on your left - door ajar and a line of urinals visible, and I see this woman with one leg hoisted up onto the tile and the other trying to place her crotch up and over the lip of the urinal... oh yes, coming as no surprise, it was her - 'Crazy'. Her male friend was with her laughing and telling her to get out, but she wasn't having it. They struggled for a bit and he managed to pull her out of the bathroom and shove her into the woman's, but not before she was cursing and shouting at all of the men in there for getting in her way and stumbled right into me. Luckily, I have good aim and this wasn't an issue for my Pumas.

Cut to a little while later, John and I have relocated to another side of the bar, when all of a sudden the wall of Crazy starts closing in. I can tell she's behind me at one point. Loud, obnoxious, a voice that could only belong to this hideous woman or some wild animal indigenous to a fucking rain forest. Then the smell hits. The long counter behind us is lit up by a series of votive candles and either someone had just let out the most godawful fart or there was hair burning. We turn around and sure enough two guys are smacking her back where apparently the candles had ignited the ends of her hair. We can only see her from the back until she tries to get someone's attention at the bar and turns around. As she turns, she reaches back and grabs a clump, though not quite a fistful, of hair from her back. Now THIS was fucking fantastic. The smell was terrible, but the pleasure I got in seeing the look on her face was priceless. FYI, she probably only lost 2-3 inches, tops, and there was no serious injury. Crazy immediately left the bar with her crew and my night had officially begun.

This just goes to show you... Ladies? (And gentleman, for that matter) If you ever walk into a bar a hot mess, start berating the people in the bar for being annoyed when you fall on them, scream in their ear, then have your hair set fire for the entire bar to see, chances are I will be laughing my ass off and you should probably take yourself home. My favorite moment was when one of the bartenders came from across the bar, squinting and waving his arm in front of him holding a can of Febreeze. Oh, I loved it.

Hey Crazy, if you're reading this - Karma's a bitch. ;)

We've Been Gassed

I've overcome a LOT of shit in this job, but this will no doubt go down as one of this company's 'finer' moments. I walked in this morning to a very odd smell. No, not the usual scent of my boss' Icy-Hot, the accountant's horrific urine-scented aftershave, or even the new girl's rancid fish and noodles that she brings every morning, but something I couldn't quite place. I decide to ignore the odor and go about my morning of reading through emails from manufacturers, sales, marketing, and a slew of other people put on this earth for the sole purpose of irritating me. Then at about 11:35am today it hit me. GAS. It wasn't the smell from when I walked in, but it hit everyone up front like a ton of bricks. The smell lasted for about 15 mins but that was enough to make me think "Hmmm... yeah, I'd rather NOT die in the presence of this fucking dirty hippie and his minions (yes, I'm one of them), but if it were up to me, I'd like to leave this wonderful planet the way I was probably intended to - asleep with a bottle of rum at my bedside. Anyway, I digress... the smell dissipates and it throws our germ-phobic accountant into a panic. He grabs his jacket and bolts out the door muttering something in his native language that sounded a little like "Yabba Dabba Do" to me.

A little while later, our fearless leader, Joe (the aforementioned dirty hippie), comes in and tries to assure us that he had called Con Edison to have the area tested last night, and therefor there was no reason for concern. He leaves the office just as the accountant walks back in with a large bag from Lee's Hardware. I'm currently writing this as I leave for lunch, but made sure to snap this photo for all to enjoy:



In the event that I don't make it out alive today, I wish you all good luck and best dishes... SHIT, *wishes (Damnit, I've been watching too much Paula Dean)

The Great Escape

So, I've been sort of fascinated by this news article I read earlier this week. A 3-yr-old boy in Queens ended up on the #7 train by himself, when someone finally took notice and he was reunited with his mother a short time later. Now, here's what I find interesting...

According to police, the boy got separated from his mother at a McDonald's, walked out the doors and down the street to the subway entrance, took a very long escalator down into the station, bypassed the turnstile, awaited the #7 to arrive, boarded the train, and sat down - perhaps trying to blend as best he could. Yes, I'm sure this was a horrifying experience for the child's mother, but with that said I couldn't help but picture Stewie from "Family Guy". I'm guessing the boy (Let's call him... Louie) had just about enough of those vile McDonald's Kiddie Meals and thought, "You know what mom... fuck this, I'm leaving." Maybe it was that last McNugget that just pushed little Louie over the edge. I believe the actual account of the events went something like this:

Louie stares down that final greasy McNugget and he's had it. He leaves the restaurant and takes to the street.

Louie strolls down the street unnoticed, passing strangers at the fish markets, perhaps the occasional whiff of street urine, and boards the long narrow escalator into the subway station, flanked by businessmen not noticing the diminutive little toddler in between them. Louie approaches the subway turnstiles realizing he's... well, 3. He can't conceivably purchase a Metrocard, but "AHA!" He's the perfect height to bypass the turnstile without getting a giant steel bar painfully slammed into his crotch.

He waits to make his great escape and the 7 train rolls up. Louie runs under the turnstile, sprints through the train doors, takes a seat and hopes for the best. Poor kid. He was so close. Perhaps he could have found someone nice enough to at least make him a decent meal before returning him home to his family with the consistently poor food choices.

Ahh well, Louie.. if you're reading this, (which is entirely plausible of course, considering you were smart enough to bypass security and board mass transit headed for the big city), you got a few years left with the woman. Stick it out. Hell, there may even be some Taco Bell in it for ya!

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/02/18/nyregion/18child.html?_r=1