September 2007

Living in such a big urban metropolis as NYC, there are very few occasions that are worthy of me going out to the suburbs. Since I don't drive there is no way for me to get around, and a typical trip usually involves sitting around someone's house because there is nothing going on and getting bored to tears. I avoid these at all costs. Occasions that are actually worth me going outside the city atmosphere I am so accustomed to are few and far between.

However, in late September of 07' one of those rare occasions arose, when my old college roommate and buddy "Timbo" was throwing one last going-away party at his house somewhere on bumblefuck Long Island. Timbo, unlike me, had both the presence of mind and financial stability to take everything he hated about the East Coast way of life, which he had always known, and shove it up his ass. He was moving to California and getting the hell outta here. Good for him. So this would possibly be my last chance to ever see the man. And besides, I hadn't been to a good house party in a long, long time, having boycotted them completely in the wake of the previous year's New Year's Party Disaster. So off to Long Island it was.

I got off a train 45 minutes out of the city at his piece-of-shit town, to be greeted by the ghetto-est of stations, and a push-button phone by which I could call a cab to escort me to the party. I had to literally push and hold a button to even get a ringtone. It was reminiscent of the phone acommodations during my night in prison, which happened to be five years ago almost exactly on this date. Surely a sign of things to come.

So I waited and waited, staring into space and emptiness for about 10 minutes before the next available cab arrived. I quickly made friends with the driver "Speedy Mcgee", a young black dude who seemed to hate the unfortunate job of chaperoning those drunk or driving-impaired (Having pre-game material on the train, I fell under both) through this suburban wasteland. He blasted the likes Ludacris and Nate Dogg as an escape from the shitty station his life had handed him. Wisely, I took down his number in my cell, just in case I would need, um, a getaway car or something later on.

So I arrived at Timbo's house to find a large gathering of kids hanging out in his backyard. There were several kegs and a gang of beercans, beer pong in full swing, a stoner circle, and a place to piss in the woods without anyone giving a shit. It had all the ingredients of a good old-fashioned suburban throwdown.

I met up with my buddy Sportskid there, and one of the early highlights of the night came when the two of us had a near-physical altercation with two girls who were stupid enough not to understand or abide by the given rules of beer pong by age 23. They seemingly made up a new rule to win the match, where if you even accidentally drop a ball in your own cup instead of the water it's an automatic victory, or some such bullshit. After about 30 seconds of arguing, I determined that this cause was not worth any more of my breath. Sportskid, meanwhile, may soon become the first man in history to take a ruling in a beer pong game to the Supreme Court. He kept arguing vociferously well beyond the point where everyone else stopped caring, and the next challengers had to forcibly pull him away from the table so the long line of contestants could move. Those girls, obviously, did not get a second more of our time for the rest of the night.

At around 12:30, Timbo came out for his hosting toast, and demanded control of a set of Ipod speakers that had been floating around the party, victim to many annoying DJs. He plugged in his pod, turned the speakers up as high as they would go, and put the Dropkick Murphys on at full blast. Being a connoisseur of Guinness and all things Irish, Timbo loved the Murphys and he knew every word. He gathered together a group of five or six of his closest homeboys and began screaming along to these Irish drinking songs. Being that I am not Irish, nor do I like the local people of Boston, nor do I like drunken Irish skinheads, I never understood the appeal of the Murphys, so I refused to join in. But that's for another website.

However, this rousing performance had a very unexpected audience. Police officers in suburbia have to be among the most miserable sacks of shit ever. Given that suburban Long Island is not exactly a hub of party activity, it does not take much for them to sit up and notice. In this case, 5 white dudes singing along to the Mcswiggan's Jig or whatever the fuck the Murphys sing about, was more than enough to attract their attention. Within three or four songs, a cop car appeared at Timbo's door, and several 5-0 members came in and ordered all the partygoers to vacate the premises.

Having a paranoid fear of the local law authorities after my arrest and several other close calls in college, I packed up my things and started running as fast as I could. While running I made a frantic call to Speedy Mcgee and told him to come down and find me. Fortunately he did, and bolted me to the train station, where there was a train in sight. Amazing timing- I could get out of this piece of shit town, and hopefully make it back into the city before bars closed.

But wait a second, there were two trains coming in at the exact same time. And it was unclear which train was going where and in what direction. In most train stations there are two platforms which have trains going in opposite directions. But here, there was just one fucking platform, with no signs indicating what train is coming in, no maps, no nothing, so what train was going where and in what direction was anyone's guess. All I knew now was that one of these trains would take me back and one of them wouldn't.

I took my best guess, walked toward one of the trains, and asked the conductor:

SD (Me): Excuse me, which way to New York?

Conductor: What?

SD: Does this train go to New York?

C: What are you talking about? We're in New York right now. We're in (name of town).

SD: I know we are. But I'm going to New York City. Penn Station. Manhattan.

C: What?

SD: WHICH one of these fucking trains will take me back home to Penn?

C: Oh, that would be the one right behind you.

I turn around and look at the other side of the platform, only see a train with all doors closed and secured, pulling OUT of the station! Because of this fucking moron, I was stranded. I checked the schedule for the next available train. 5:35 AM. That's FOUR FUCKING HOURS where I would be stuck here in this shithole. Upon remembering this fact, I let out a barrage of pretty much every curse word imaginable at the top of my lungs, emphasized by a long "NOOOOOOO!"

A group of passengers exiting one of the trains mocked me, calling me a stupid loser and then telling me to shut the hell up and go fuck myself. Thanks for the kind words jackasses. Once they had left, I was all alone on the platform. Not a soul in sight. Aggrivated by this current situation, irked by the strangers' comments, motivated by the feeling of being completely alone, and having lots of alcohol in my system, I continued to scream curses into the empty air until my lungs got sore.

Within a few minutes of my screaming, I decided to give my friend Panic a desperate call for help. Having survived going to school in the suburbs for four years, Panic was a natural choice for advice in this situation. Here is how my phone call went down:

SD(screaming): HEEELLLLLLP! I'm trapped on Long Island and I don't know what to do. HELP ME!

Panic: Oh god, what did you do now?

SD: I'm stuck in the suburbs for Four Fucking Hours and I don't know what do to. I missed my train.

Panic: OK, calm the fuck down. Is there anyone you can call to give you a ride home?

SD: NO!

Panic: Is there anyone you can call to come and pick you up, that you can crash with.

SD: Well there is, but his party just got broken up by the cops and I HATE THE COPS!

Panic: Are you alone right now?

Exactly as Panic said this, I noticed a single car waiting out in the parking lot. It was blue and had red flashing lights, and proved that I was definitely not alone. Do you remember how I said that suburban cops will use any excuse for action? Unfortunately for me, in this case I forgot about that rule.

Upon noticing this, I let out another loud "OH SHIT!", slammed my cell phone closed in the middle of Panic's sentence, and I immediately began running to the other side of the platform and the touch-button phone to get the closest cab. Not like that would look suspicious or anything.

It took me three desperate tries to even get a dial tone, and when I did it was a busy signal. I let out one more loud "FUUUCK!" The next time I tried, I was able to get hold of a driver. I recognized his voice as Speedy Mcgee. I told him to get back to the train station "as soon as humanly possible." Those were the last words I was able to get in to him, because I had some company.

That cop car I had noticed was waiting in the parking lot and pulled directly up to me. The meathead cop inside got out and approached me to have a little "conversation":

Cop: Excuse me sir, what are you doing?

SD: I'm just trying to call a cab.

Cop: Several train passengers alerted me to a public disturbance at this station. They gave me reports of a deranged man doing lots of inappropriately loud screaming and vulgarity. Are you aware, sir, that this is an obstruction of justice?

SD: I know nothing about this sir. All I'm trying to do is get in a cab back to my friend's place.

Cop: You're only making your case worse, because lying to an officer of the law is a federal offense, and I clearly saw with my own eyes that you were the one doing the screaming.

SD: I really don't know what you're talking about sir. I'm just trying to call a...

Cop: Alright that's it, you're coming with me.

Just as the cop put his hand into his back pocket to pull out his handcuffs and make the arrest, whose car came screaming around the corner but Speedy Mcgee to the rescue! As soon as I saw it I began running towards the back door of the cab. Right before I opened the door, I turned towards the baffled cop and gave a memorable parting salvo: "Well, it's been nice chatting with you, bro, but I gotta run. Catch you later!"

I immediately jumped in the cab and told Speedy to get me back to Timbo's house as fast as he can, adding "And Step On It" for emphasis. I would have never have guessed that a line from an old Bugs Bunny cartoon would make so much sense today, but step on it he did, speeding away from the police car. One block past the station, I looked back to see the familiar red tailights. Every few seconds, I looked back only to see the cop trailing us. "Faster, faster" I urged, having to scream over his loud Snoop bumping. Very appropriate music, I might add, for a legitimate police chase. And faster he went, with barely a car around for miles except for us and the po-po. I told him to take the most "alternate route" possible, and that he did, throwing in a few detours. Timbo lived at the very end of a long and confusing street, but by the time Speedy swerved onto it at full speed, I turned back fully expecting to see the cop tracking my progress. Not a car in sight.

Every few seconds I would look back, expecting to see him right there. But nope, still no one. By the time we reached the end of this road and got back to Timbo's house, it was clear that Speedy had shook and lost the bumblehead officer. I told him thanks for doing what I had said, and handed him a few extra dollars than my fare. For once in my entire lifetime, a cabdriver had actually earned his tip!!

So I walked back onto Timbo's lawn, which had been completely cleared out except for the host and a few close friends. I explained to Timbo my situation, and he told me I was cool to lay low there until the next train finally came. At the back of my mind, I got anxious, because usually if the police are drawn to the same location twice on a single night, there is likely to be an arrest made no matter what. So I nervously watched his driveway for the slightest sign of a police car. After a few minutes, Timbo and Sportskid calmed me down and told me I could help them kill whatever beer the cops had not confuscated. Speedy had lost the officer, and I was among friends, so I was safe.

I chilled and drank for a few minutes with the small circle of Timbo's friends, before I got bored shitless and realized I had three and a half hours to go. So I figured out the easiest way to make time go by is sleep. I chugged another beer as fast as I could and attempted to pass out on a lawn chair. About half an hour later I was rudely awakened by an unfamiliar voice.

"Who the hell is this? And why is he passed out on MY lawn?" It was Timbo's mom. I had completely forgotten that he still lived in his parents' house and they had been inside through the whole party, the drunken sing-alongs, and the cops showing up. Now, of all times, they decided to come out of their hibernation, and were not very open to the prospect of strangers sleeping on their lawn.

After Timbo's desperate efforts to convince them that I was an old friend who needed a place to crash until 5AM, they finally agreed to let me inside their house and rest. About an hour later I was awakened by a strange slurping sound. I opened my eyes, only to see Timbo on a couch opposite mine, sucking the face off of one of the weirdest looking girls I had ever seen. Picture an Asian porn star, such as Syren. OK not too bad. Now picture that same Asian porn star, but weighing about 300 pounds and having excess body fat everywhere. Well folks, that is the visual I had to wake up to.

I smiled at this, because Timbo has a reputation among several of my friends as a Whaler. And nope, I ain't referring to the old Hartford NHL team that folded in in 97'. Good thing he was about to move to Cali, because if they found out about this, Timbo would never hear the end of it. But this time, I kept it to myself and passed back out.

So 5AM finally rolled around, and like it or not, I had to break up Timbo's tryst. I figured that Speedy Mcgee had earned a good night's sleep after all that, so I had to force a very irritated Timbo to start his car and get me to the train station. So I got to the station, said my goodbyes to Timbo and his latest conquest, and went back up on that same train platform. But this time, not a police car in sight.

I counted sheep, counted stars, counted everything imaginable to pass the time until the train finally got there. But this time, it was only one train on one side of the track. Still, I kind of choked up, hoping this would not be Deja Vu all over again, and Scotty Luck would not figure out some bizarre loophole to keep me off this train. The train pulled up and the doors slowly opened. I asked this conductor forcefully: "Are you positive that this is the train to Manhattan, Penn Station?" He replied "Yes it is, kid. Now calm the hell down and get your seat!" At the time, those words could not have sounded any sweeter.