Last summer, before patron was the drink of champions and me and my boys lived like peasants with our shitty fake id's and empty bank accounts we used to have to come up with innovative ways to kill it in New York. Needless to say, we went back to our standard high school moves of buying cheap booze and killing it wherever we could find space.
Now on this lucky night, we were blessed with a beautiful rooftop overlooking Union Square and some great company of some dumb girls from Westchester. Now, the thing you've got to know about me and my buddy Tiny Dancer is that we like to drink, and a lot. Apparentley our new friend Mary did too: but she just didn't know how to do it. Me and TD are peacing through this bottle of vodka quicker then it took Vinny Chase to develop a coke problem. Mary, obviously trying to distance herself from her ugly fat friends ("UFFs") decided she was going to kick it with us and try to play the "I can drink as much as you guys game" even though we've been professional alcoholics since the mid 90's.
Now, after a few drinks, Mary does what any good bro has found themselves doing at some point in their drinking career: leaving everything that was in her stomach, on the table. After a few vomits, me and my buddy TD, who I was jostling for this broad with, both decide that hooking up with girls that vommited just isn't our cup of tea. We proceed to ignore the dying girl and continue to enjoy our vodka and make snide comments about weight to the UFFs.
After about twenty more minutes, and an empty handle later, now incredibly more intoxicated, one of the UFFs comes up to us and tells us that Mary's gone. Obviously, not being a city boy, I wasn't too worried: back where I'm from, people get lost all the time. Hell, my boy from MCA blacked out at a football game, got rid of his cell phone, and still showed up to our pledge meeting only 20 minutes late. The UFFs did not share my relaxed sentiment, and proceeded to check with the doorman to ask if Mary had left. Of course, he didn't know, because obviously this building was paying him an inflated salary to watch internet porn and facebook stalk 14 year olds. The doorman, in a panic, decides to call NYPD.
Now we have a perdicament on our hands, the cops are here. Obviously, TD and I, know how to deal with situations of stress, pick up a pack of Virginia Blends. This was back in 2010, when cigarettes were cool and Rebecca Black only dreamed of being a youtube sensation. As someone who just quit the cancer sticks, it's funny how quickly culture can change: one year, same city, and half the towns traded cigarettes for snow. I guess when they're charging 16 dollars a pack you might as well spring for the good stuff.
Anyway, as we start attempting to assist these coppers in their search for Mary, we realize, we really can't remember what she looks like. Luckily, we've got her fake-id. Note to those people who may eventually lose a girl: asking people in new york city at 3:30 AM if they've seen a drunken blonde girl will get you no where closer to finding what you're looking for, but you will get some crude remarks. My buddy TD, lucks out, gets to ride in the back of a cop car, lights on, wrong way down a one way. It was very NYPD Blue. After a few hours of searching, with cops stationed all over the city, including Grand Central, and her parents now here from Westchester, Mary is still no where to be found.
Now, keep in mind, this is a Thursday, and I've got work the next morning. I neither know, nor care, about this girl. It's about 4:45 and I ask one of the cops, he was a real Lenny Briscoe type, if I could just bounce home. He tells me that they might need to take a statement: another guy, who I like to refer to as Doomsday cop, tells one of TD's buddies to check the outside of the building incase she jumped. Around this time, they bring in the special ops cops: think Navy Seals, just to check the elevator shaft, becasue apparently it's possible for drunk 20 year old girls to fall down elevator shafts.
At this point in the night, reality's starting to kick in and I'm getting worried. I'm out of cigarettes, and I hadn't had a drink for about 3 hours now. I know how the Natalie Holloway story went, and I was praying they wouldn't pin it on me, not being a city boy. Luckily one of TD's buddies was Mexican, I knew they'd go after him first: gave me a bit of relief. At around 5:15 am, as we're all hopelessly sitting and waiting in the elevator lobby, Mary stumbles out. Apparently she had broken into a penthouse and taken a nap. Stupid bitch.
Of course, I had blown my adderall the night before for partying, so work the next day was miserable. The cops wouldn't even give me a lift home after my great services to them, when I asked, they just glared. It just goes to show you that no matter how much assistance you provide people, they're always just worried that you're going to one up them. Even though I know I'm smarter and better looking then most NYC policemen, I can also recognize that they're the best in the business: always tip your cap to them when you see them on the street.
Anyway, one year later, Mary's still grounded from New York City. Apparently she went abroad last school year, so we're not even really 100 percent sure that she made it back from Europe. She wouldn't accept my Facebook friend request, follow me on twitter, or connect with me on Linked-In. Maybe if she's on google+ i'll be able to put her in my dumb blonde girls who can't drink circle. I'm still a guy chasing a dream, now with a little more money and a little bit more diseased liver: but hey, at least I quit smoking.
Until next time, always remember: even if you never need a bailout, always take the free cash, patron's expensive.
Dicky Fuld
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