Wednesday, March 17, 2010

St. Patrick's Puke

Today's St. Paddy's day. I don't really understand the holiday in the least. Here's what I know. Kids cut school from all around the city and the surrounding burbs, get drunk and make asses of themselves. Adults do it too but the kids are the most obvious. Today, being an incredibly gorgeous day, brought em out in droves. By 9:30 they were streaming out of Penn Station, beers in hand, wandering towards the parade route. The concept of underage drinkers getting hammered before I've had my second cup of coffee is frightening.

I went downstairs for an afternoon break of the tobacco kind and I'm standing on the corner, facing the entrance for the Long Island Railroad, watching the crowd of swaying, staggering kids, soaking in the glorious, warm sun when I see two girls across the street. One of them is holding a green yard glass (those long crazy ale glasses) in one hand and a tether of about 20 green and white balloons in the other. The other is holding a yard glass and waving. I casually look around me to see what she's waving at but there's nobody near me. The girl with the balloons, who's wearing a form fitting print dress that seems to stop just below the pubic hair line, assuming she has any (she looked like the full shave type), is now pointing at me with the yard glass. I take a closer look and realize that, sleazy outfit aside, she's hot. Real hot. Her friend, on the other hand, is real not. She, too, is wearing a too tight dress that barely covers her ass. Problem is, it reveals every roll and crease in her oversized body. Now they're both waving at me, pointing at me and the fat one motions for me to come over.

I laugh, smile and shake my head, indicating I'm not coming over. What the fuck do I need that for? The hot one throws her hands up in the air in disgust, the balloons smacking some guy in the head, and starts to cross the street. As curious as I am regarding what this young lady might say to me, I'm really not in the mood to have my short break co-opted by her. 34th Street is a wide street, two lanes in each direction and, as she gets to the middle she looks up, does a little jog of sorts, smiling at me, points and then pukes. That's right, pukes. Big foamy spray of puke. She stops, pukes again, looks up and smiles. She starts to walk towards me and now I'm in a panic. I look to my right, Starbucks. It's crowded. I might not get in and thru the store before she reaches me. I look to my left. Mass of people waiting to cross the street. Tons of St. Paddy's drunks milling about.

She's getting closer. Stagger stumbling towards me. No shame with this one. She must think I didn't notice the massive, technicolor, yawn she let loose on the street. People are edging away from her, fearing another explosion. A few look at me, pity in their eyes.

What to do? What to do?

Then it hits me.


Citibank.

Behind me.

YES!

I wheel around on my heels, grab the door, toss my smoke and enter the bank.

I move thru the second set of doors and head towards the other exit which is on the other side of the atm room. As I grab the door to leave I hear "wait, I want to ask you a question."

"Got gum?" would be appropriate about now but I don't even want to turn around and say it. I don't want to smell the vomit. I don't want to be around her when she pukes again. I don't want her to come near me.

I exit the door, make a left and head for my building.

Being too drunk to follow me, she opts, instead to walk along the windowed wall that leads in the same direction. She's saying something to me but I can't hear her.

Fuck!

Another exit.

She sees my eyes move towards the door and she picks up her pace, hoping to cut me off.

I pass the door as she is pushing on it and then she pukes again.

It sprays out from her mouth against the glass and back onto her.

It's fucking nasty and, normally, I'd probably puke myself but I start to laugh instead.

I hear her friend yelling to her from behind me as I enter my building and jog towards the elevators. The last thing I need is to have these crazy puking girls chasing me into my place of business.

To be safe, I jump in the wrong elevator and jam the door close button like I'm in some crazy chase scene in some cheesy movie.

The doors close. The elevator rises and I'm safe.

Of course, when I go home tonight, there will be twenty times more of these drunkards wandering the streets.

7 comments:

Trenton said...

She prolly just wanted a smoke man. But since she was too busy tossing her salad, I can understand your apprehension with talking with her. I woulda just told her to stand back and yell whatever it was she wanted to ask me from halfway across the street. Hell, she's drunk!! She would have answered too!! :P

Trent :-)

Floogin McNoogin said...

I work on one of the busiest corners in the city. No way she'd have heard me if it was 10 PM on a saturday. Late afternoon on St. Pat's? Noisy as hell.

AccessDenied said...

you know..there's something in there about you making hot girls sick..but..I'll be nice...
Me? even though Irish, I didn't get drunk..(that's for this weekend)and I don't puke..thats just wrong.

Julie Lamar said...

Maybe she mistook you for a leprechaun. Or recognized you from somewhere.

Paddy's day has basically evolved over the years to become a drunk's paradise, an excuse for teens and alcoholic adults alike to start putting 'em away before lunch and straight on till hops stream out through their pores.

Be grateful you saw her coming.

Floogin McNoogin said...

You mean she was after me lucky charm?

DeannaS said...

Was in Savannah this St. Paddy's day and it was SO not the celebration it used to be. The people next to me at the parade could have been these girls, it was gross.

On a side note, what on earth is up with green beer? Tried it for the first time ever and i spit it out. Some kind of uber light crap with so much food coloring I could taste it. Double gross.

Floogin McNoogin said...

Green beer is meant to provide you with the horrific reminder of the previous night's drinking via green pee and/or green puke.

No other reason for it.

Now, you want to really be disgusted, come to NYC on St. Patrick's Day and check out the green bagels. They look like mold donuts.


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