Uncut

As a known elitist, convinced I lived in the greatest city in the world, I often have to wonder, is what I would consider an average night of ridiculousness what others would consider the most utterly bizarre night of their life? The simple oddities I take for granted on the streets of New York would most likely bewilder and and frighten the greater population of Kansas. In a day’s commute it would be perfectly normal to see a delusional angry bum scavenging for drug money on the subway platform, or a woman painted green and standing perfectly still in the stance of the statue of liberty. 

But all these things are what any tourist might observe, not entirely note worthy or interesting, just well known characteristics of New York, for those privileged enough to know them. What I am more curious about is the weekly adventures of sorts I seem to get myself into completely unintentionally, would these ever befall some other character? would they live to tell the tale? or would they then become agoraphobic, too scarred to ever consider venturing back out into the outside world. Ask yourself how you would react as I sum up the events of last week, a slightly more uproarious but not too particularly strange string of days in my life.

On Tuesday I somehow found myself journeying to the Bronx to watch the two newest episodes of the glorious show Californication starring my esteemed hero Hank Moody. My adventures to the Bronx are rare but always thrilling, and at times do remind me I was raised in a far more hoodrat environment than the suburban home in Staten Island I would come to live in later. And I do miss the seedy city life, the Mexicans whispering something crude in Spanish when I passed by, the illegal substances dealt at every street corner with sneakers on traffic lights to signify. On my venture back into Manhattan I had consumed various substances myself and was eager at the idea of reaching my destination of the bar and consuming more. While waiting on the above ground platform I saw a young black man fumble up the stairs, a bottle clanked in his black plastic bag, he looked up and saw me watch him. He laughed and told me “You didn’t see that” we began a very odd conversation that only two people deeply influenced by alcohol would engage in, and formed a sort of bond. When the train arrived we sat down together, he informed me his name was Ock and took a large bottle of Hennessy out of his bag and offered it to me in a little plastic cup, this man was prepared, and also my new best friend. He then also took out a red sort of passion juice, he told me the concoction of hennessy and red passion was called “thug passion”. We drank this the entire train ride, highly illegally, I am pleased to say my new friend even seemed to be an atheist. When we got off the train we both went our separate ways, but i’ll never forget the man. The only other details I remember about this night was getting a bacon egg and cheese, and being made fun of by Australians. 

Then Friday, a night I had certainly not anticipated to be one of any relevance,  was one of the sheer classic stupidity of which I am known for. After visiting Ginger House with a good friend for Chinese food and half price wine happy hour, we journeyed to Alphabet city to drink yet more wine at the apartment a friend was having a small get together at. After drunken phone calls had been made, and iphones had been broken, we decided it was time to leave. I saw my friend to a cab and I decided to wait for the bus on 2nd avenue which goes directly to the ferry. I had not been waiting long when a black cab pulled up and asked where I was going. I informed him I was going to the ferry but was not interested in taking a cab, (everyone knows a black cab is far more expensive anyway). He stated he was bored with having no business and would drive me for free. As one who has never been able to turn down something free I jumped in against my better judgement, I mean he was a cab after all right? Soon after he told me that he lived near the bridge to Staten Island and would take me all the way home, making only a quick pit stop at a bar in Brooklyn. Well I was in the car now, I looked at myself as already in for a ride with minimal  assurance of making it home, I figured i’d just see where it took me.

When we arrived to the Turkish dive bar in Brooklyn, (i’m guessing Turkish but I could be completely off) I assumed it was the hang out of all the cabbies, he knew everyone there and spoke in an unfamiliar language. He bought me a vodka cranberry and had a beer for himself. At this point I was getting concerned, I do not like the person behind the wheel of the vehicle i’d be in to be doing any drinking, especially when they were a stranger. To make matters worse his obviously way drunker friend had ordered strange food he was trying to convince me to eat while being a little too touchy with his hands. I informed my driver that I wanted to leave, and he was obedient. Unfortunately he was also driving his far drunker friend home too, as he was unfit to do so himself. The drunk man then stated he wanted to come for the entire ride to Staten Island much to my protest, and the cab driver suggested maybe I should stay the night with him, but that was out of the question. So all three of us, a cab ride of dis function passed the $13 toll into the dumps of Staten Island. The entire journey I had been practicing my whiniest of voices in an attempt to show my discomfort and hurry the arrival to my home safely. When at last we had arrived, I had the driver drop me off a block down from my house just in case he would attempt to abduct me for another hellish ride, I could see he genuinely felt badly for the actions of his friend, but was not altogether an upstanding individual.

I had always thought I wanted my own chauffeur, but at the experience of one perhaps i’ve changed my mind. So there it is, another moderately average night in the life of Riana Coles.