Will and Fancy take Manhattan; Joey takes the stairs.

I was getting a bit worried last week that life in NYC wasn’t proving to be blog-worthy, but that was before this past weekend. My friend Will and his wife Francoise (henceforth to be known as Fancy) came down for the weekend, and I knew that any time spent with Will would be an adventure.

On Friday, Will, Fancy, Will’s cousin Genna, and I went to dinner at The Smith near Union Square. Fancy introduced me to Original Sin cider and the night went from there. After dinner we went over to Alphabet City in search of The Musical Box. Our friend was celebrating his birthday there, and we knew the bar was on Avenue B and 13th St., but none of us could find it when we got to the intersection. Turns out we didn’t look hard enough. The bar, like many in NYC, was unmarked except for gold lettering (the kind people use on their mailboxes) on the front door. The bar inside was pretty cool, and vodka tonics (Will and Fancy), Bud Lights (BL’s for Niamh and Genna), and shots of Jameson (for everyone) were ordered en masse, causing some of us to triple-fist it at times. The celebration was a success, as I found out the next night that the birthday boy puked pulled pork all over the men’s bathroom before sumbling home early so he (and his friends who shall remain nameless – hint: one rhymes with Holes), could make thier Tee time the next day.

Genna and I were less than impressed by this ridiculous display of responsibility on a Friday night (nb: it was nearly 2:30), but as we were yelling at the boys about it, a rat ran out in front of us. Genna yelled, “Will look! A rat! Catch it!” Will ran over to the garbage can he thought the rat was under and lifted it up. The ran dashed out, and Will stepped backward, not quite realizing he stepped in the same direction the rat went. He felt a crunch, and when he lifted his foot, he discovered he had stepped on the rat’s head. The rat started ceasing, and we were all too dumbstruck to think to put it out of its misery immediately. It rolled around for about a minute before finally stopping. Welcome to New York, Will.

Will, Fancy, Genna, and I grabbed a taxi and headed to Genna’s local bar. The bartender filled our empty hands with vodka-flavored drinks and vodka-flavored shots, and by the time I had finished my drink, I was sitting on a stool with my head on the bar, watching Genna and Fancy dance. I use the term “dance” loosely. The last thing I remember from the night is Genna yelling at me in her apartment to ‘put on elastic-waist pants!’ and I was having none of it. I fell asleep on the chair and woke up the next morning to the sound of Will groaning from his hangover.

Cut to Night 2:

The night started off innocently enough. We met at Moles’ place in Queens to hang out and get some food before heading out. I devoured a Pastalicious pasta bowl (penne alla vodka, zucchini, mushrooms, tomatoes, peppers, mozzarella, chicken, and something else that I can’t remember, but it was amazing), and when it seemed like we had rallied enough to make it back to Manhattan, we took the subway to the Upper East Side. We walked and walked and walked until we arrived at the frat-daddiest of all bars: The Big Easy.

The first thing I saw when I walked in was a mass of men. I know that sounds like a ‘duh’ statement, but there wasn’t a girl in sight. They were hidden by the biceps and the necks and the traps and the popped collars. They were also clustered at the other end of the bar in convenient proximity to the six beer pong tables that were set up. Now, I’m not judging, but I’ve never seen so many girls move their bodies the way these girls did. I’m pretty sure there are other types of clubs in New York that would pay these girls to dance like that. But I’m not judging.

Back to us. Our group managed to rule the beer pong table for the duration of the time we were there. The frat boys marveled at my friends’ skills, and I was reminded of Saturday nights at UConn where the boys learned their tricks. At one point, Will asked me to find Joey, his partner, and tell him that they were up next and they needed a pitcher of beer. I found Joey at the bar and shouted the instructions. He seemed to understand, and I was confused when the barmaid presented him with a cup of Bud Light. “Joey,” I said. “You need to order a pitcher.” Joey looked disappointed and said, “Oh, so you don’t want to take a picture with me?”

“Not right now,” I said. “You have to go play.” Off he went to find Will, and I turned my attention to the large man who had just stepped on my foot. I’m pretty sure he drew blood, and it took everything I had to smile and say, “No bother. I have a spare.” He seemed impressed with my answer and bought me a beer.

I had barely taken a sip when Fancy came over and told me we had to leave. I gave the beer back to the guy (noting to him that “It’s okay. You can drink it. I’m clean.”), and left with Fancy. Joey had apparently fallen down the stairs and was covered in blood. I was skeptical at first considering how I had left him, but when I looked out the window, there he was, his blue shirt now covered in his blood. The first think I looked to was his nose, but it was still in tact. I looked up to his forehead and realized why some of the group was so grossed out. Joey had managed to hit his head and gash it – the cut was three inches across and I could see the white of his scull. I ran back inside and asked the bartender for napkins and ice, and he obliged. The bouncer, on the other hand, tried to tell me I couldn’t take my cup outside. I looked at him and said, “Seriously? What if I just carried the ice in my hands? There is a hole in my friend’s head!” “Oh! Really dawg!” he said. “Go fix it!”

I found Joey farther down the sidewalk completely unaware of the seriousness of the situation. One of the girls in the group (who, coincidentally, had just finished her last day of medical school) was also trying to fix Joey.

“Joey,” she said. “You have a laceration in your forehead and you have to be admitted to the hospital.”

“What?” said Joey. “Stop. I’m fine. I’m totally fine. Let’s just go back in.”

This exchange repeated itself a few times, and all the while I’m standing there with ice and napkins on Joey’s bloody forehead trying to keep Joey from swatting my hand down. Finally I got a bit tired of it, so I said, “Joey, you have a ridiculously bad-ass cut on your head, there is blood everywhere, and you have to go to the hospital. It’s going to be a good story.”

Joey seemed to understand this because he goes (while slapping his hand to his forehead the way one does when surprised), “Oh my God I do! Oh man!”

The med student and I were relieved at Joey’s comprehension, but it was short-lived because Joey sat back down, sighed, and then said, “No wait. I’m fine. I’m totally fine. Let’s go play beer pong!”

The ambulance finally arrived, and the grumpy paramedics put Joey on a board and stabilized his neck, which he thought was pretty cool. Moles and Seth rode in the ambulance with him, and poor Joey ended up spending the night in the hospital and getting 17 stitches.

With our buzz officially killed, we didn’t feel like going back into the bar ourselves, so we headed back downtown toward Genna’s apartment and ate our weight in McDonald’s instead. Genna once again insisted on elastic-waist pants for everyone, and we fell asleep to the sounds of the city and the random giggles of “Did that really just happen?”

Yes, that all happened. Will stomped on a rat, we drank at a frat bar, and Joey got a hole in his head. Life is always and adventure when Will and Fancy come to town.