I've Got Friends In Low Places

Last Friday night, although the exact details are fuzzy, was definitely one of the craziest nights of my life - and not in a good way.

The night began with a solo, sober taxi ride to K & J's apartment which ended with me fighting with the driver because he dropped me off on 6th Avenue instead of 7th. He then proceeded to tell me that the address I gave him, one that I have been to a million times, did not exist.  So I exited the cab without paying. I was angry and did not want to give this stupid man cash and his credit card machine was not working.  I explained to him that he did not take me to where I wanted to be and therefore he did not perform the service he was hired for and should not be paid.

Anyways, I eventually found K & J's apartment and we discussed plans over their usual choice of drink - Svedka.  This particular Friday night was the type where, according to Facebook, there were no birthdays to be celebrated or other pre-planned event.  So we decided to meet SS and JS at a bar on the LES along with some other friends.

The night was fun and going smoothly until around midnight when SS and I needed to use the bathroom.  The line was very long and SS was curious as to what was behind the black curtain to our right.  Maybe it was a secret bathroom??  So I went to take a look, it was a pantry.  Having felt defeated and suddenly very tired I saw a Red Bull on one of the shelves and decided to take it.  The manager (I think it was the manager; SS thinks it was simply a bus boy) saw me and would not accept money for the drink - instead he said I needed to leave the bar IMMEDIATELY.  I suddenly find myself being physically pushed outside by this man and am truly in a complete state of shock at the absurdity of the situation as I wave bye-bye to SS.

On the way out of the bar the manager/bus boy told the three doormen not to let me back inside no matter what.  This was a problem for a few reasons; 1. It was raining, 2. I had no way to reach my friends because the bar was in a basement and they had no service, 3. I still had to pee very, very badly.

I tried arguing with the bouncer but eventually had to give up because it became very clear very fast that I was not going to be allowed back inside - not even to be "escorted" to the bathroom so I could relieve myself and then "escorted" right back out.  Giving up on an argument and accepting defeat is something that does not come easy for me as those of you that know me well can attest to.  I am a very stubborn person and not only do I not like to lose or be wrong,  but I NEVER lose and I am NEVER wrong. So it was with great effort that I succumbed to the oh so important bouncer and asked where he would recommend I use the bathroom since at that point that was all I cared about doing.  This big blob of a man looks down at little ol' me and says nothing, instead he smirks at me and just points straight ahead.  I look towards where he is pointing and accompanied with a facial expression that was a mixture of horror and disgust I say, "You have got to be fucking kidding me," because my friends, this is what I was looking at:

I looked at the bouncer, gave him my nicest smile, and through gritted teeth asked him if he could at least point my friends in the right direction when they come to find me. Because there was no way in hell that I was literally going to step foot in a bar that looked like it was inhabited by the Devil himself, without someone knowing where I was going.

I can't explain the appearance of the inside of the bar or it's customers without sounding obnoxious, but let's just say that the outside doesn't even compare to the inside. I would imagine prison to be cleaner.  I held my breath and with one hand holding tightly on to my bag and trying very carefully not to touch anything with the other, I made my way, past some of the scariest looking people I had ever seen, towards the bathroom:

A very nice guy told me that the stall through the door on the left was cleaner and that his girlfriend, who saw and understood my look of horror, would wait outside for me since sometimes the locks don't work. I opened the door and this was what I saw (this picture is taken from my cell phone; not a wesbite):

Yes, I used that toilet.  After exiting the bathroom and finding my new friends:

I offered to buy them tequilla shots as a thank you for serving as my body guards.  They decided they would call me "Chanel Girl." I smiled and went along with it out of pure fear.  They could have called me "Stupid, Ugly, Fat Idiot" and I would've been cool with it. Seriously.  This girl could have made me her Bitch like in prison and that would have been okay too.  I was terrified.  People around me were talking about how many times they had been shot.  So I was happy with my two new friends. I also made friends with a guy who resembled Silent Bob - from Jay and Silent Bob, except his beard was longer and he wore yellow aviators and kind of also looked like Ted Kaczynski, the unabomber - (I will post his pic later).  But this guy let me wear his sunglasses, I felt like I fit in more wearing them.  I think I may have been the first girl to ever speak to him in his life.  Come to think of it, he may have been more like Silent Bob than I first realized, I don't think he said one word back to me.

Then FINALLY, after what seemed like an eternity, but in reality was enough time for me to use the bathroom, buy and take very cheap, warm tequilla shots and get a hold of a stranger's aviators, my friends arrived to save me.  But being the kind of cool kids they are we didn't leave right away like you would imagine.  SS actually put her entire wallet into the Juke Box (and all of her belongings on to the bar) and we rocked out to some rock and roll tunes before making our getaway.

Now, as much fun as that was, I am sorry LES, I love you and I love NYC but I will never return to a punk bar. I just can't. I'm not lucky I'm pretty, I'm lucky I'm alive....