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My weekend was full of booze, drugs, strippers, casinos and waking up in the middle of nowhere with no way of getting home. Because so much happened between Friday evening and Sunday night, I have no choice but to chronicle this in separate chapters.
This epic story has been dedicated to Tim, Jeff, and Trevor.
Here is entry #1, or what I like to call “I Have No Shame Whatsoever.”
Friday.
I decided to take the train down to Philadelphia to see my best bud Jim. I wasn’t feeling too good, because I was all loaded up on antibiotics for my bronchitis. Naturally I assume this is the best time to start drinking. And what better place is there to drink than on public transportation? (If you’re wondering, the answer is “nowhere”).
Lucky for me, Jason (
) said he had to head down to Philly as well, and would take the train with me.
He told me that he was bringing tequila for the train ride to compliment my case of beers. So while I’m milling around the station waiting for him, I think, how awesome would it be to do proper tequila shots on the train with a lime and salt? I pass by this fancy deli that has this cornucopia display of colorful fruits. I see a lime in this cornucopia. I walk up to the register. I say :
“Excuse my good sir, but may I buy that lime from your display case?”
Good Sir: “A lime? We don’t got no limes here lady.”
Me: “I believe there is a robustly green lime tumbling gracefully out of the cornucopia display that must be left over from Thanksgiving.”
(He checks, sees the lime, looks at me like I’m off my nut).
Me:“How much will you sell me that lime for?”
(He consults the manager, they whisper a bit.”
Good Sir:“Fifty cents.”
A lime was secured, and everyone behind me in line officially wanted me dead. Now for the salt.
I go into a Wendy’s where I don’t see one of those courtesy counters full of straws, tubs of ketchup and salt packets. So I once again get in line. At the register I said
“Excuse me, but can I have a few packets of salt?” ( I was prepared to make up some off-the-cuff story about how if I don’t have a salt packet now I will pass out from low blood pressure and my heavy, lifeless body will be sprawled out on their floor for them to deal with.)
Lady: “You gots to buy sometin’ first.”
I was too tired to fight this, and I just wanted to booze it properly on the train.
Me: “Fine, I will have a small soda. And make it snappy. And no ice.”
So I get my salt packets and give my soda to the nearest bum, and since this is Penn Station, that means all I have to do is basically turn around.
When Jason and I get on the train, we waste no time with pleasantries. Aside from the fact that I comment on his shirt:
We start drinking immediately. He has one of those fancy backpacks used for hiking, and it has a built in satchel with a straw so that you can drink water out of your backpack. And by water I mean about 40 oz. of Gin & Tonic.
Now, the train is extremely crowded, and it just so happens that a son and his mother are sitting next to us. Jason and I reek of alcohol and are chatting loudly about all the things we’ve done when we were “soooo FUCKED UP.” The kid keeps looking over at us, scared out of his mind, trying to play his gameboy. The mother is this gigantic woman who is watching “Mean Girls” on one of those portable DVD players, and looks over every time she heard the “pssst” of me opening another beer can.
This is what the scene looked like:
Jason (speaking loudly): “...Yeah and she fucks on the first date which is totally awesome! But my last girlfriend, she was such a slut that having sex with her was like putting my dick in a wet garbage bag.” (takes a swig of Grand Marnier, I blatantly start taking photos of people on the train)
Jane: “Dude, do you remember that time when we got wasted and I took the intern home? And he came in wearing the same clothes the next day, but I didn’t have to take anyone’s shit because I quit?” (Crushes beer can on forehead)
Mom sitting next to us: “You guys look like you’re having fun! I can’t wait for a drink, I’m gonna have one of those as soon as I drop off the kids here!”
We are now bombed. It is only 8 p.m. We have to transfer at Trenton, and we have a few minutes to kill, so Jason decides to go ask the kindly-looking Indian man at the kiosk for 2 paper cups so that we can do shots like decent human beings. The Indian man states that he will SELL us 2 paper cups for $1. Jason is pissed. He tries to talk the Indian man down to 25 cents a cup. The Indian man will not have it, he stands firm on his 50 cent a cup offer. Jason pulls out 2 quarters and says “Come on man, here are 2 quarters, just give me those 2 cups and these quarters can be yours.” The Indian man again refuses. So Jason goes “Fine, I DON’T WANT YOUR FUCKING GAY CUPS ANYWAYS!” and throws the quarters at the Indian man.
We go to the ticket window to buy tickets and Jason feels it necessary to tell the clerk that I like to jerk him off. The ticket man starts laughing. I am not laughing. Jason then goes BACK to the Indian man who he threw quarters at and asks for free cups. They ignore him.
But things lighten up when we get on the next train and break out the tequila. We are, again, surrounded by people. But they seem like cool dudes, because they are all laughing at how wasted we are. The ticket guy comes around and as he is punching Jason’s ticket, Jason looks him straight in the eye and goes “Back-alley abortions are not my forte. And do you happen to know what time we will be pulling into Philadelphia?”
We cut up limes, empty the salt packets on our moistened wrists, and go for it:
30 minutes into the train ride we have to pee like crazy. We are wincing. The conductor who hates us a lot tells us there are no bathrooms on this train and has an evil smile on his face. The cool dudes around us tell us “Its true, there are no bathrooms.” Me and Jason are in pain. So we keep drinking. I have to pee so bad, and the whole train knows it. Jason decides it would be funny to PUNCH ME IN THE BLADDER. So he does. I almost cry. Cool dude #1 sitting behind Jason HIGH-FIVES him.
I punch Jason in the bladder. This sends Jason over the edge, and he is seriously contemplating just pissing his pants and throwing them in the washer/dryer when he gets to his friend’s house. I convince him that as great as it would be to walk off this train with his pants soaked in his own urine, it’s probably not a good idea. The cool dudes on the train are all waiting in silence for him to piss his pants. He keeps it in.
We part ways at the station and Jim picks me up outside.
<----Mr. and Mrs. Trouble
Jim and I go straight to Tim’s house, where we walk in and there are about ten guys playing poker and listening to classical music. We decide to liven things up by getting wasted and playing darts.
Pretty soon everyone was in on the game. Jim was really good at it:
I was decent to start with, but as I got drunker and more out of control, the darts went anywhere BUT the dartboard.
<--the wall is not the target
not there either
<--That’s a dart in the parquet wood floor. The FLOOR.
Here is a play-by-play of my tequila induced dart throwing skills:
Let's see that close up:
To give you an idea of what this house is like, think of a frat house…now times that by a million and you might have this house. You will find the following in this house:
A giant pot plant:
A guy named Ed dancing with his dog named Larry in the kitchen:
A random My little pony:
Profanities:
They bought chalk with the express purpose of chalking up the house. So I helped:
<----This says “Conor blows”. He is one of the people who beat me in darts. So he blows.
We get pretty hungry towards the end of the night, but the only edible thing in site that is vegan is this:
<--Mustard packet
So I eat it.
And vomit.
Into a dog bowl.
Jim had a really good invention. It was to put your arms through the handles of a plastic bag and vomit, much like a horse eating out of a feed sack.
It was getting late.
People were passing out all over the house
Time for sleep. Tim tells us that we can sleep downstairs in the basement. Jim goes “WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!”
Turns out the basement has become the house dog’s toilet. They are always too stoned to actually WALK the dog, so they let it shit all over the basement. And I mean, ALL OVER THE BASEMENT:
The living room floor was fine for me, apparently:
Tomorrow, we had major plans. Those plans consisted of two words: Atlantic City.
I will title this entry “Strippers are awesome but not always smart”
“Come children, gather ‘round the fire, for I have a tale to tell. A tale of feats unholy, of heroes in golden armor and fiery-breathed dragons. I have a tale…of Atlantic City.”
All I’m going to say is that a copious variety of drugs were involved on Saturday and that you should keep that in mind.
Road trip to Atlantic City. We leave in the evening.
The culprits: Jim, Matt, and Tim.
The Car: Like a maiden carved into the head of a ship, so we had the most valiant of ninja turtles to lead the way:
As we are pulling into Atlantic City, we are slapped in the face with a harsh and sad truth. We fucking missed Whoopi Goldberg Live!!!
NO WAY MY LIFE IS OVER!!!. SHIT!!!. I mean, who cares about the prostitutes and casinos when Whoopi is in town? (The answer to that is “no one”). Is this a sign that I shouldn’t name my first child Whoopi after all???
Traffic is bad as we enter the forbidden city. So we smoke a bowl with the windows down. A car of old people pull up next to us. They are looking at us. We continue to smoke drugs. Jim is not impressed.
And into Atlantic City we roll.
I had on my lucky bracelet.
<--a prostitute will later tell me she likes my bracelet. Hookers love me, and I love hookers.
Tim and Matt want to go see this Pink Floyd laser light show that's playing at the Taj Mahal casino. Jim and I opt out, and instead choose to get more effed up. We go to 7-11 to get some mixers for the alcohol. I got a red bull, and as Jim is driving through the streets I am pouring a giant bottle of tequila into the red bull can. Jim short stops mid-pour:
At this point I am obviously chemically altered, look like I just came out of a German World War 2 trench, and in addition to all this I now smell like cheap tequila and looked like I pissed myself.
Jim and I park in one of those massive, 15 floor lots and continue drinking, talking about how we will walk through the casino floor and watch the high rollers. Instead, we end up spending 40 minutes trying to find a bathroom. We happen to pass a store called “Winning Streak” that is chock full of fur coats. It is the awesomest store I’ve ever seen, because basically it communicates “If you won big, come buy a shitty fur coat...cause we sell them here.”
We wanted to get one, and show up outside the Pink Floyd show wearing fur coats, but realized we had no money. The idea circulated of maybe me getting a tattoo of a fur coat above my ass, but in the end we decided it was probably not a good idea.
Tim calls us and says to come get them. Jim and I realize we have spent all that time either at 7-11, in the car, or searching for a bathroom. So much for the casinos.
Who goes all the way to Atlantic City to drink in a parking lot and search for restrooms?
Jim is hungry and thirsty so he has a giant soda and a bag of pretzels with him.
He is walking through a casino with a giant bag of pretzels and a giant coke and looks like a total douchebag. I am ashing my cigarette on to the casino floor. A bouncer looks at me and his look says “that is not ok”.
When we meet up with Tim we all decide to go to a strip club. Jim knows a good one, but we have to drive there, so Tim says “I’m ok to drive. Lets get the car. Where did you park it?”
Jim and I look at each other in sudden horror as we are out of minds right now and have absolutely no idea where we parked the car.
“Guys? The car? Where is the car?”
silence.
“WHERES MY FUCKING CAR?!”
“We…forgot where we parked it.”
“You FORGOT where you parked the car?”
“I think it was close to here. Or…far. Maybe between close and far, somewhere..I dunno.”
Tim was pissed:
"do not take a picture of me at this time. I want my car."
But that’s ok, because he was being one of those guys that wears sunglasses inside a casino, so that rationalized us losing the car. In our minds.
Somehow by the grace of God (actually I don’t think God was helping us at all, in fact he was probably sending a courier to hell telling Satan we’d be there soon) we found the car. Phew.
Time for some strippers. Strippers, FUCK YEAH!!!
Jim and I sat right on the stage, waving dollar bills, shoving dollars between titties and into G-strings. It was a deep and reflective experience and I think it made us richer as human beings. However, we noticed that the strippers were leaving all of their underwear on. I did not pay $10 to see underwear. So I turn to the guy next to me and ask if we will be seeing some naked breasts in the near future. He says no, that this is “exotic dancing.”
The strippers come over and keep asking me my name and telling me I am pretty, because they want my money and I am the only clothed girl in the place. So I lie and tell them I am a stripper in New York City. They talk shop:
“Don’t you hate it when you go over to a guy and shove your ass in his face, touch your own ass and then he doesn’t give you any money? It’s so degrading!!!”
I’m sorry, did I hear you right? You dance in a thong and hump a metal pole for complete strangers but you feel degraded because you didn’t get a dollar for rubbing your own ass? Um, ok.
"You know my general rule is never let them lick your titties unless they give you money first."
This one stripper is like “OH MY GOD! I really want to work in New York City! How much do you pull in a night?”
Now, I have no idea how much a stripper makes on average so I say
“Oh, I pulled in about $500 the other night, it was great!”
Stripper: “That’s nothing..I did 15 champagne rooms on Friday and made almost two grand just off that.”
I quickly recovered with: “Oh well I meant on a Tuesday. Yeah, I work Tuesday night…you know how weeknights are, super slow..”
Stripper: “yeah They can be. Anyway, maybe I can work with you? Except, the place you work at doesn’t make you take your top off, do they?”
Me: “Yeah, they do.”
Stripper: “Oh, never mind, I don’t take my top off.” Then she looks at me like I’m some lower class slut.
Yeah, I’m really holding back the feminist movement as a stripper that takes my top off. What dignity you have, you don’t take your top off. She was a classy girl next door type, the kind you take home to mom. Named Candy. Uh huh.
I leave the strip club with warm goodbyes.
We decide to get in the car and get out of Atlantic City. Tim’s mom has a house in Sea Aisle, New Jersey, which is about 30 minutes outside of Atlantic City. When we get to the house, I take a valium and pass out in a bed. The boys stay up until 5:30 in the morning drinking heavily. And that is why we found ourselves in the horrible situation that came upon on us the next morning….
This entry is called “Sunday is the Lord’s day, but not in this case”
I have a fuzzy memory of Tim walking into my room at 6:00 in the morning, eyes red as hell, obviously completely fucked out of his skull and saying “Jane get in the car now. We are driving back to Philly. Get up.”
Me: “What …what time is it?”
Tim: “6:30. Come on, get up, you can sleep in the car.”
Me: “No…its 6:30 in the morning dude, there is absolutely no reason to drive back to Philly right now. Besides I am going back to New York from here, not Philly. Just go back to bed. Sleep it off.”
He tries to wake up Jim, who is still full dressed in his leather jacket and shoes, face down and spread eagle on the next bed. Jim is dead to the world and won’t be woken up on Tim’s insistence.
Tim says he is leaving, but will come back for us.
I fall back into sleep.
Cut to a few hours later, when Tim’s Mom burst into our room yelling “HOW ARE YOU TWO GETTING HOME?”
I have no idea what she is talking about and I am half asleep.
“How are you two going to get back home?”
We flat out ignore her and go back to sleep.
This is what just happened: this lady walks in on two people who are crashing at her house, her son is missing, Jim is still wearing a leather jacket with his shoes all over the bed, and when she tries to tell us to go home we basically just turn our backs on her and go back to sleep. Awesome.
A few hours later she comes in again and asks us, again, how we are getting home. Apparently, Tim and Matt got into the car at 6:30 a.m. and decided to drive back to Philly. When His mother woke up and saw that he was gone, but that me and Jim were still there, she found that odd….so she calls Tim. She walked in on them doing shots at 5:30 in the morning, and pretty much figured out that Tim was in no condition to have driven home and …she…was…PISSED. She told us no, Tim was not coming back to get us, and that we would have to find a way to get home. All she had was a 4x4 truck that fit only two people…so not only could she not drive us anywhere, but she wasn’t going to because we let her son drive 2 hours back to Philadelphia at 6:30 in the morning drunk.
(Just to let you know, I was barely awake when Tim came in and Jim wasn’t awake at all. Tim didn’t say he was leaving with out us, stranding us out in bumfuck New Jersey).
So now me and Jim have no way of getting anywhere. We walk outside, and this is where we are:
Shit. So we find a yellow pages. There is a map.
The lower end is where we are. The upper end is where we need to be in order to get to public transportation. Translation: we are far from anything. We also have no money.
So we call a cab company. The nearest cab company is 30 minutes away. They are laughing at our ridiculous request. They will drive to Sea Aisle to get us, and take us to the NEAREST New Jersey Transit station….which is 40 minutes away. The charge? $45. Do we have any other choice? NO.
FUCK. So now we have to shell out $50 to go to some train station where we don’t even know WHERE the train goes to. But we need to get out of here, fast.
We are angry that Tim’s mom is offering us no help whatsoever, being that it was her son that drove off in a stupor and left us there. So Jim decides to blow his nose repeatedly and stomp his snot into the carpet.
The cabby finally picks us up. He is obviously annoyed that he has to drive so far, so we try and make light of the situation and tell him what happened. I guess he didn’t find the story “We were majorly fucked up, someone drove home fucked up, and now we are basically fucked” a funny story.
We ask him to make a pit stop at 7-11 so that we can get money from an ATM. He is not happy about this, but he says yes. I ask him if he wants coffee. He ignores me.
Luckily, an ATM:
Its about noon at this time so Jim also gets a hotdog. We get back to the car, get a dirty look from the cab driver. The 7-11 hotdog is stinking up the entire car. We are blatantly laughing about this. But the driver is not. Jim asks him a conversational question. The driver ignores us again.
We are dropped off in a small “town” called Absecon, New Jersey. We are kind of relieved to get out of that cab, and feel like we have a better chance of getting home now that we have public transportation.
When we walk up the steps to the train station, we see that there is only one track.
This is weird. We look at the schedule and realize that this track only runs back and forth from Atlantic City to Philadelphia…which is great for Jim. For me, this means that I am one state away from home, but instead I must go all the way back to fucking Philadelphia and then turn back around and go to New York. I am pissed. Upon further inspection of the schedule, we also realize a train is not coming for another 2 and a half hours. We had just missed the train..the catch? It is a train we would not have missed had we not stopped at a 7-11 to get a hotdog.
We stand there, feeling like hell, looking like hell, in the middle of nowhere in New Jersey, wondering how the hell this happened, when Jim says “Atleast its not raining.”
And I swear to you, it started raining. It occurred to me that that "it could be raining" scene has been recurrent in many movies because it obviously DOES happen.
We decide we need to get indoors. This is not a “station” as much as it is a platform and a track. We say, maybe we can find a diner or something and get a coffee. This is what the town looked like:
There was a town hall, and about 20 nail salons.
Absecon Historical Society? What history does Absecon have? "Back in 1805 we sucked. Today we suck worse."
We eventually find a diner, where the waiter hates our stinking guts because we are broke and stranded and order a coffee and onion rings, bringing the hefty tab to six dollars and four cents.
We left and walked around. More nail salons. An abandoned high school. Here are a list of things that I would like to do instead of spend any amount of time in Absecon:
1) Have sex with Sadam Hussein
2) Eat the dog shit that was in Tim’s basement
3) Lick a sumo wrestler’s asshole
Back at the station, just before the train comes, we decided to share our thoughts about Absecon, New Jersey.
Two hours later, we pull into Philadelphia. It is 4:00. We have now been traveling for 5 hours and spent close to $100 to get out of our mess. I want to cry, because I realize I now have another 4 hours of traveling to get back to New York City.
So, at 4 pm on a Sunday after going on a bender, there is only one thing to do:
Before we part ways, Jim goes: "Hey Jane, I bet we have a better story than anyone in this bar."
And we did.
copyright Jane Callahan 2006