How I died (probably) in NYC
I've been to New York City a number of times in my life, it's the muse to my life. The lights, motion, history gets all wrapped up together next to a hot dog vendor and $1 pizza slices. But to start there would do injustice to what actually happened, a culmination of events that was perpetually pushing me forward towards that end. No different than a snowball rolling down a hill or a volcano building up pressure. Much like the mild mannered Clark Kent who reveals himself to be the powerful Superman, I probably would have fallen into that category except my superpower was drinking way too much and passing out. I think quite a few people can corroborate that and likely many of ya'll reading I probably passed out on your couch. That was much the norm for me when it came to drinking, probably not all that different from most young people but I'd say I had little less regard on my livelihood during those times. Also for much of that time I felt like writing would just pour out of me when I drunkenly scribed my thoughts, and yes content was good but proof-reading drunken chain of thoughts is a whole nother beast. All that leads up to what would be the second road trip to NYC that my brother and I adventured on. And. away. we. Go.
We always drove to NYC, 24 hours in a car straight shot. And I always booked a hostel. I mean though we may not have been like in college college during some of those times we still had college id's and that's good enough. This time I booked a nights at a place called "The White House" in southern Manhattan. It was fairly close to the now closed CBGB club, made famous by the ramones and sex pistols. Though as I'm starting to figure out now with dating apps, you can't always trust the pictures ya see, which may be relevant to hostels.
The trip itself up there was nothing out of the ordinary, I quite literally remember nothing about it other than it's a really long drive to D.C. which is where we'd hole up for one night to check out the Capital before making the last leg up to Manhattan. Get up there Park our car in the long term parking at JFK and take a what ended up being 100 dollar cab ride from the airport to the hostel. I do remember immediately as we walked up to this place which had no visible sign outside of the building and required a buzzer to just walk into the lobby that we might be in trouble. To say it was shady and ill kept would be an understatement. The bottom floor was a homeless shelter. $1 for the night to stay for the local NY homeless and mentally unstable. I should of saved my 30 bucks a night and gone for the dollar cot. The third floor was the hostel. Or rather cots divided by slabs of wood separating what was probably 100 beds with 4 showers for everyone. (This will come into play soon enough)
Cue up typical museum trips, sights to see, time square pictures the norm. Up until the day before we planned to leave. That morning we got up and sat in the common area on the second floor, during the day there was more students/kid travelers coming in and out. Eventually a dude came and sat with us striking up a conversation about where we were from. He's from Denmark we're from Texas it was a good pairing. He asked the obligatory question about us riding horses and we asked the obligatory amersterdam weed questions. After dinner and drinks of course in which he couldn't stop laughing about how giant our portion control sizes were, by the looks of my fat ass he should of known portion control was not a strong suit. Granted the larger size did make knocking down a few extra drinks a no brainer.
Then the real drinking began. First place we sat in the patio and ordered buckets of beer and I drank the extra one in every bucket. We ate outside because he looked like Ewan McGregor and an Accent that would make any basic girl weak. ( I'm not sure how we thought someone elses accent would help us get laid but hey who am I to argue with 22 year old wisdom)(Also my chunky ass was not getting laid by any girl who'd see the Ewan McGregor look alike and then my blonde hair blue eyed brother, I'd be the Chandler cooking pancakes off the radiator for any chick they took back). Sure enough girls would congregate and we head off to the next drinking hole, dance hall or bar. All in all I can't remember how many places we went to, I do remember us getting lose trying to keep up with some girls to go to a club. We finally ended up at a pub and this is when things get really hazy...
Earlier that day I bought an Ireland soccer jacket, looked super cool and not 20 minutes after putting it on some Irish Hooligan crossed me on the side walk and gave me some OYs and hugs and high fives as if I knew all about the Irish National team. Or hell even anything about soccer. I knew nothing but whatever color me green with envy and irish pride. At some point in time that night after all the drinks, after all the walking, after all the Danish Jokes we ended up outside an Irish Pub. Before we could decide where we were going to go, the same Irish Hooligan who ordained me as a member of Ireland had his strong arms around my neck and shoulder dragging me in the bar for shots on him. I remember walking in and nothing immediately after that. Until many many hours later. Apparently at sometime I got us thrown out of the pub by the bouncer, who knew I could cause a ruckus, though I think throwing up probably had more to do with it than my rebellious nature. A short taxi ride later, apparently its super frowned upon to throw up in taxi's, also who knew? Somehow Ewan look alike and my brother dragged my ass to the hostel and threw me in the hobo shower downstairs, which was pretty famous for hearing a good ole fashioned sex act if you ventured down there to try their showers. Nothings working at this point, and why would it I'm Irish Drunk. Also for future reference for my brother when it comes to waking up a drunk in the shower please empty the pockets first, a ruined cell phone, digital camera and shoes we're not very fun.
At this point a moment of clarity ensues, an almost out of body experience, how lucky can I be to reach this level of Buddhism! Sirens sounding, flashing lights, some idiot sitting with his head in his own lap on a giant potted tree. I wonder who these sirens are for, what idiot homeless person mugged a tourist. There definitely not for me. Moments later I wake up in the hospital. If only I had done more with my out of body time!
Needles in arm, machines peeping, where the crap is my shirt. My fat ass jumps in a pool with a shirt on. I start pulling tubes out of me, needles out of me, probably not a wise decision but damn we were supposed to leave at 6am that morning and my brother would probably leave with out my ass! Nurses come in and I tell them I gotta go, we're leaving that day and I have to be back at work in 2 days. She said you are not going anywhere without shoes on. How the fuck did I lose my shoes? We're they drunk too? I make my way to the nursing station shirtless, shoeless pants completely soaked, not quite the banner time of my life, a moment that probably wouldn't make the life achievements on an Obituary. So I get to raid the lost and found at a hospital, in NYC, in for all I know poorest part of Manhattan. I do get to put on a pair of Vans, with no socks definitely hygenic, a shirt that obviously belonged to man much larger than myself. If the nurses gave me any information on what happened I wouldn't know I don't remember, also I was alone. Was my brother there at my bedside worried, not quite. Was he in the waiting room nursing his own hangover waiting for my ass to come to, nope. Ah okay he was outside in the car waiting for my ass to walk outside, that would also be too easy. Alone, incredibly hung over with Band-Aids on my arm like your local druggie, my only hope is to hail a cab because All my sight seeing in NYC I never once thought hey lets map out hospitals and where they are in accordance to time square. So a hospital in any part of New York, looking for a hostel that had no visible name I was in trouble. (like drinking too much and ending up in the hospital wasn't trouble). I hail a cab and say take me to CBGB which was I knew only about 5 minute walk to home sweet hostel. I get in with my wet pants and as a habit reach for my wallet, oh wait in the non existent wallet that should be in my incredibly soaking jeans. Deep breaths ensue and fight or flight starts to happen, how long can I go before I have to jump out and attempt to run in my new owned pair of vans. Traversing pockets I come across a folded up dripping wet 5 dollar bill. This fair now officially has an ending point, regardless of how close to my destination I was going to land. And I will always forever remember this, as we close the gap between the cab and CBGB we stop with exactly $4.97 on the meter, I've never flung a wet bill faster and jumped out of car quicker. And I'm sure the next passenger enjoyed the wet spot on the seat which in NYC you would immediately think to be Piss. I walk somewhat hazardly to the hostel, make my way into the building, walk up the steps and locate my brothers wooden hinged door to bang on. He creeps out and I say probably verbatim "What the fuck man you left my ass alone in the hospital!" He quips back "Man I was fucking drunk too." and with that logic I couldn't argue. Slinked my way to the cot and figured we're leaving tonight.
Side note, I woke up from nap and Tom was gone again with no note, hah
Also side note, that poor Danish guy had no idea what the hell he was in for
Incredibly dangerous side note, we left to drive home that night at 10pm, there is no amount of sleep that suffices you to sanity after you wake up drunk in the hospital so that drive home was incredibly dangerous, I literally remember thinking that driving at 4am that night was more dangerous than all the drinks I had the night before.
Also side note I had to overdraft the gas the whole way home, I was broke and Tom's cash that he had he gave to the Driver of the Taxi that I left all my lovely gutty gifts in which was probably a few hundred bucks. I mean hell like he said "Man I was fucking drunk too"
And there ya go, the night I died in NYC yet somehow wasn't the most dangerous activity I did.
also heres the last picture I took from that night, obviously my camera got ruined so ya know,
Myself, followed my Simon the Danish Guy and My Brother Tom.
We always drove to NYC, 24 hours in a car straight shot. And I always booked a hostel. I mean though we may not have been like in college college during some of those times we still had college id's and that's good enough. This time I booked a nights at a place called "The White House" in southern Manhattan. It was fairly close to the now closed CBGB club, made famous by the ramones and sex pistols. Though as I'm starting to figure out now with dating apps, you can't always trust the pictures ya see, which may be relevant to hostels.
The trip itself up there was nothing out of the ordinary, I quite literally remember nothing about it other than it's a really long drive to D.C. which is where we'd hole up for one night to check out the Capital before making the last leg up to Manhattan. Get up there Park our car in the long term parking at JFK and take a what ended up being 100 dollar cab ride from the airport to the hostel. I do remember immediately as we walked up to this place which had no visible sign outside of the building and required a buzzer to just walk into the lobby that we might be in trouble. To say it was shady and ill kept would be an understatement. The bottom floor was a homeless shelter. $1 for the night to stay for the local NY homeless and mentally unstable. I should of saved my 30 bucks a night and gone for the dollar cot. The third floor was the hostel. Or rather cots divided by slabs of wood separating what was probably 100 beds with 4 showers for everyone. (This will come into play soon enough)
Cue up typical museum trips, sights to see, time square pictures the norm. Up until the day before we planned to leave. That morning we got up and sat in the common area on the second floor, during the day there was more students/kid travelers coming in and out. Eventually a dude came and sat with us striking up a conversation about where we were from. He's from Denmark we're from Texas it was a good pairing. He asked the obligatory question about us riding horses and we asked the obligatory amersterdam weed questions. After dinner and drinks of course in which he couldn't stop laughing about how giant our portion control sizes were, by the looks of my fat ass he should of known portion control was not a strong suit. Granted the larger size did make knocking down a few extra drinks a no brainer.
Then the real drinking began. First place we sat in the patio and ordered buckets of beer and I drank the extra one in every bucket. We ate outside because he looked like Ewan McGregor and an Accent that would make any basic girl weak. ( I'm not sure how we thought someone elses accent would help us get laid but hey who am I to argue with 22 year old wisdom)(Also my chunky ass was not getting laid by any girl who'd see the Ewan McGregor look alike and then my blonde hair blue eyed brother, I'd be the Chandler cooking pancakes off the radiator for any chick they took back). Sure enough girls would congregate and we head off to the next drinking hole, dance hall or bar. All in all I can't remember how many places we went to, I do remember us getting lose trying to keep up with some girls to go to a club. We finally ended up at a pub and this is when things get really hazy...
Earlier that day I bought an Ireland soccer jacket, looked super cool and not 20 minutes after putting it on some Irish Hooligan crossed me on the side walk and gave me some OYs and hugs and high fives as if I knew all about the Irish National team. Or hell even anything about soccer. I knew nothing but whatever color me green with envy and irish pride. At some point in time that night after all the drinks, after all the walking, after all the Danish Jokes we ended up outside an Irish Pub. Before we could decide where we were going to go, the same Irish Hooligan who ordained me as a member of Ireland had his strong arms around my neck and shoulder dragging me in the bar for shots on him. I remember walking in and nothing immediately after that. Until many many hours later. Apparently at sometime I got us thrown out of the pub by the bouncer, who knew I could cause a ruckus, though I think throwing up probably had more to do with it than my rebellious nature. A short taxi ride later, apparently its super frowned upon to throw up in taxi's, also who knew? Somehow Ewan look alike and my brother dragged my ass to the hostel and threw me in the hobo shower downstairs, which was pretty famous for hearing a good ole fashioned sex act if you ventured down there to try their showers. Nothings working at this point, and why would it I'm Irish Drunk. Also for future reference for my brother when it comes to waking up a drunk in the shower please empty the pockets first, a ruined cell phone, digital camera and shoes we're not very fun.
At this point a moment of clarity ensues, an almost out of body experience, how lucky can I be to reach this level of Buddhism! Sirens sounding, flashing lights, some idiot sitting with his head in his own lap on a giant potted tree. I wonder who these sirens are for, what idiot homeless person mugged a tourist. There definitely not for me. Moments later I wake up in the hospital. If only I had done more with my out of body time!
Needles in arm, machines peeping, where the crap is my shirt. My fat ass jumps in a pool with a shirt on. I start pulling tubes out of me, needles out of me, probably not a wise decision but damn we were supposed to leave at 6am that morning and my brother would probably leave with out my ass! Nurses come in and I tell them I gotta go, we're leaving that day and I have to be back at work in 2 days. She said you are not going anywhere without shoes on. How the fuck did I lose my shoes? We're they drunk too? I make my way to the nursing station shirtless, shoeless pants completely soaked, not quite the banner time of my life, a moment that probably wouldn't make the life achievements on an Obituary. So I get to raid the lost and found at a hospital, in NYC, in for all I know poorest part of Manhattan. I do get to put on a pair of Vans, with no socks definitely hygenic, a shirt that obviously belonged to man much larger than myself. If the nurses gave me any information on what happened I wouldn't know I don't remember, also I was alone. Was my brother there at my bedside worried, not quite. Was he in the waiting room nursing his own hangover waiting for my ass to come to, nope. Ah okay he was outside in the car waiting for my ass to walk outside, that would also be too easy. Alone, incredibly hung over with Band-Aids on my arm like your local druggie, my only hope is to hail a cab because All my sight seeing in NYC I never once thought hey lets map out hospitals and where they are in accordance to time square. So a hospital in any part of New York, looking for a hostel that had no visible name I was in trouble. (like drinking too much and ending up in the hospital wasn't trouble). I hail a cab and say take me to CBGB which was I knew only about 5 minute walk to home sweet hostel. I get in with my wet pants and as a habit reach for my wallet, oh wait in the non existent wallet that should be in my incredibly soaking jeans. Deep breaths ensue and fight or flight starts to happen, how long can I go before I have to jump out and attempt to run in my new owned pair of vans. Traversing pockets I come across a folded up dripping wet 5 dollar bill. This fair now officially has an ending point, regardless of how close to my destination I was going to land. And I will always forever remember this, as we close the gap between the cab and CBGB we stop with exactly $4.97 on the meter, I've never flung a wet bill faster and jumped out of car quicker. And I'm sure the next passenger enjoyed the wet spot on the seat which in NYC you would immediately think to be Piss. I walk somewhat hazardly to the hostel, make my way into the building, walk up the steps and locate my brothers wooden hinged door to bang on. He creeps out and I say probably verbatim "What the fuck man you left my ass alone in the hospital!" He quips back "Man I was fucking drunk too." and with that logic I couldn't argue. Slinked my way to the cot and figured we're leaving tonight.
Side note, I woke up from nap and Tom was gone again with no note, hah
Also side note, that poor Danish guy had no idea what the hell he was in for
Incredibly dangerous side note, we left to drive home that night at 10pm, there is no amount of sleep that suffices you to sanity after you wake up drunk in the hospital so that drive home was incredibly dangerous, I literally remember thinking that driving at 4am that night was more dangerous than all the drinks I had the night before.
Also side note I had to overdraft the gas the whole way home, I was broke and Tom's cash that he had he gave to the Driver of the Taxi that I left all my lovely gutty gifts in which was probably a few hundred bucks. I mean hell like he said "Man I was fucking drunk too"
And there ya go, the night I died in NYC yet somehow wasn't the most dangerous activity I did.
also heres the last picture I took from that night, obviously my camera got ruined so ya know,
Myself, followed my Simon the Danish Guy and My Brother Tom.
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