THROWING UP IN A CAB IN NEW YORK CITY
This sentiment encompasses all of those wild nights in my 20s. In New York in particular, this were rampant. I was young, energetic, and had New York City at my fingertips. There were parties that Joe threw at his boyfriend's loft in the Village, when I had to buy new clothes on the way to work since I couldn't make it home inbetween to shower and change... there were plenty of nights at 1020 when I crashed on the couch of my Irish friends since I didn't want to hike it to Queens and back... there were company holiday parties that started at one bar in the East Side and ended with club hopping in downtown Manhattan and not sure how I ever got there... all the Santacons... there was Valentine's night with Betsy and Ronnie when we started in the Meatpacking district and they got their fortune's read before going to an old favorite bar on the East Side and I woke the next morning with a CIA business card in my purse... or Chrishon visiting and we shut down the 80s bar and rode the subway with 2 Dutch guys... the list goes on and on!
I remember this particular night of throwing up in the cab though. I wasn't working for Study Group anymore, but met up with them at Happy Hour to celebrate, although I don't remember what. Drink after drink after drink, and then we relocated to a Brazilian bar. I remember hanging out with my friend Josh. Josh was somehow a skinny man in his 40s, able to pound away unlimited drinks and not even appear drunk. He was always buying more rounds.
At some point, I was ready to go home, and Josh and I lived in places where it was easy to split a cab, dropped him off in the 70s and I would take it the rest of the way up to my place. I didn't remember being so sick, but I also get incredibly motion-sick. I remember being in the back of the cab and not. feeling. good. I rolled down the window and stuck my face out, but I wasn't lasting. I told Josh, tell the cab driver to pull over! Josh said we were almost there, I could make it! I said no! tell him to pull over!
I just remember throwing up at my feet, then I remember Josh opening my door, and I remember that we were at the intersection for his house, and there were these huge, low, fat poles and I just sat on one. I remember Josh talking with the cab driver. I knew I had thrown up, but I didn't know what to do. Josh told me I would crash at his apartment. I woke up in the morning on Josh's couch, and remembered everything and asked him what the hell happened. I asked if he cleaned the cab, or paid the driver, or what the heck happened? He just said no, I just told the driver he can take care of it and he left. Josh is somehow, contrary to what you might think, oddly able to take care of situations like these, and apparently did. But from that night on, everytime I passed by Amsterdam & 72nd, I remembered sitting on those poles while Josh dealt with the cab I had just thrown up in.
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