A Cautionary Tale

Here’s a cautionary tale we would all do well to heed. It involves a friend of mine who lives in New York City, someone that we’ll call “Pomeida.” The night in question would be a Wednesday. And the generalities could happen to any of us, but the particulars are Pomeida’s alone.

Wednesday night, as usual, Pomeida went to the gym after work. He hurried through his routine, then rushed home to change so he would be on time for the Young Professional’s Networking Event at Splash. It’s a good place to meet cute guys, and they always have an open bar. Pomeida had had a busy day, so he’d missed lunch. Unfortunately, by the time he decided which tight t-shirt to wear, he was running late. He skipped dinner and headed right to Splash.

The best thing about the networking event was the open bar. Pomeida took thorough advantage of the free vodka-sodas while he did a couple of loops looking for pretty faces. Deciding it was hopeless, he started calling friends. Turns out a couple of them were at Phoenix for $1 beer night. Dollar beers and proximity to NYU means lots of cute college boys. Pomeida pounded a final couple of vodka-sodas and cabbed over to Phoenix.

Phoenix was packed. The boys were cute. Pomeida’s friends Kenny and Toby were there, and feeling no pain. Without a second though Pomeida switched over to $1 beers, thinking “liquor before beer, you’re in the clear.” Even when the beer in question was skunky Pabst. Pomeida hung his shirt off his belt and went out to dance with the cute college boys. He continued to double-fist cheap Pabst. The boys got cuter as Pomeida got drunker.

It’s at this point that things became fuzzy for Pomeida. He was grinding on some 19 year old with a good fake and a bad GPA when Toby came over to chat. “Let’s go to the Cock,” Toby said. The Cock is a raunchy leather bar, and it’s Toby’s favorite spot in New York. Pomeida doesn’t go to the Cock very often, but tonight it sounded like a great idea. He gave the 19 year old a deep kiss and slipped him his number, then grabbed a cab with Toby and Kenny and headed for the Cock.

The Cock was rockin’. Pomeida wasn’t sure what time it was (he’d left his watch at home) but it was late and the boys were having fun. Toby disappeared into the backroom, and Kenny settled down on a barstool. Pomeida shed his shirt and coat and left them with Kenny while he grabbed a drink and went to make the rounds. The boys at the Cock were cute and very friendly, and it took him quite a while and a few drinks to make a loop through the bar. When he finally got back to Kenny, Pomeida noticed his shirt and coat were gone.

“Where’s my shirt,” Pomeida asked Kenny.

“I think it’s gone,” Kenny said. Pomeida looked at Kenny. Kenny was even more gone than the shirt and coat.

At this point, Pomeida realized his wallet, keys, and phone were all in the coat. And that he had no shirt. And that his apartment was on the other side of Manhattan. And worst of all, he didn’t have replacement insurance on the phone. The insurance company had dropped him after the third time he lost his phone at Coyote Ugly. Ugh.

In a panic, Pomeida grabbed the first thing he could see. It looked like some kind of fur coat. He threw it under his arm, ran out of the Cock and down the block. A few hundred yards down the street he put on the coat. Turned out it was a ladies’ half coat, made out of rabbit. It ended at the bottom of his ribcage. Pomeida realized he had no money, no credit cards, and so no way to pay for a cab. And that his apartment was halfway across the island. With a sigh he started the walk home, in sweat-stained pants, no shirt, and half a fur coat. Good thing he had gone to the gym and didn’t eat that day, because all of New York was going to be treated to the sight of his bare midriff.

When Pomeida finally got to his building, the doorman gave him a shocked look and moved to block the door. A drunk, shirtless homo in half a fur coat at 3 am is not warmly welcomed by the staff anywhere. But then the doorman recognized Pomeida, and with a grin asked him about his night. Pomeida snarled something incoherent, staggered through the revolving door, and went upstairs to pound on the door until his roommates let him in.

Pomeida survived his Wednesday night, but just barely. The doorman is still recovering.