Don't get drunk at a party full of people you don't know...

The following blog recreates the events from a recent outing by a group of twenty and thirty somethings. Names will not be included to protect the stupid, *cough* I mean, victims.

These are their stories:


**LAW & ORDER SOUND EFFECT**


The culprit (from victim's account). Identity not yet confirmed:


Beer from parts unknown. Possibly spiked.

Known accomplices:


Wakatake Sake, from Japan.


Kirin Beer, also from Japan.


Saturday after a long day of work, a group of us went to a very cool Japanese restaurant named Kenka in the Astor Place neighborhood of Manhattan. My brother took me to this spot a couple of months ago, and I've been hooked ever since. If I don't have anything planned on a Saturday night, I usually end up there with my bro and the crew.

We arrived about 8:15 PM, waiting for everybody else. They showed up, and we were shown to our table around 9:00 PM. It's well worth the wait. We sat down and the waiter, Kim Chee (a Korean fellow, not the manager of pro-wrestler, Kamala The Ugandan Headhunter) sat us down. The first thing we ordered was Wakatake. It's a very smooth and highly potent sake that's the choice of the Yakuza in Japan. We always ask the person who serves us if they would like to have a drink as well. Nobody has yet to pass (I guess that's why they like us so much).

We go the family style route; order a bunch of different dishes and pass it around. Pitchers of Kirin Beer (another fine Japanese beverage) are being brought throughout the meal with Kim Chee downing his pint like a champ before going to his next table. This guy would make frat boys proud. Who knew frat boys would be actually involved later in the night.

While eating, somebody brought up that there is a party going on in SoHo and that we're invited to go after dinner. It's one of those "friend of a friend of a friend" kind of things that I'm usually not a fan of. I like to go to a party that I know a decent amount of people.

We asked for the bill, and a slightly buzzed Kim Chee brought it to us a few minutes later. We hooked him up with a big tip, and he thanked us graciously for it. He asked for our names for next time we come over. Here's the conversation I had with him:

Me: "I'm E.J. nice to meet you."

Kim Chee: "Thank you very much, "E-Chay" "

Me: "No, problem bro. You look like you liked the drinks as well."

Kim Chee: "Do you know the hip hop?"

Me: "Oh yeah, I do."

Kim Chee: "You lookie like the Big Punisher..."

Oh, how everybody got a kick outta that one. I'm not gonna lie, I thought it was funny as hell too. With that said, my ass really has to get familiar with the inside of a gym.

We're outside, feeling what the young and hip urban kids like to call, "nice." The party was brought up again. My brother and myself weren't really feeling the idea, so we went to his apartment in Brooklyn while the other four went to the party.

We got to Brooklyn and I crashed right away, which is a rarity for me. I'm almost never in bed before 2AM on any given day, whether I'm drinking or not. I wake up the next morning and my brother's roommate has yet to come back. My bro felt that something odd must have happened, since they call each other if they're coming home late. I fell asleep again, and I didn't get up until about 1:30 PM. The roommate finally came back...except with a few less possessions.

The victim returned to the apartment barefoot, in a t-shirt, and boxers. He woke up in an elevator in Chinatown in that very state of dress. With nothing else on him, homeboy trekked from Chinatown to Brooklyn on a sunny Sunday afternoon. The trip included a nice walk over the Brooklyn Bridge with the New York City skyline looking down at him like the ass that he is.

So what was he left without? Here we go...

Wallet
Keys
Cash
iPod
Jeans
Socks
Sneakers
Hat
Bicycle


We asked him what the hell did he have at the party, and what type of party was it. He said that all he had was beer and that it was a fraternity party. The other three people he went along with took off way before he did. He wanted to stay and continue drinking with an apartment full of people he didn't know.

Carlito Brigante in "Carito's Way" said it best...

"Dumb move, man. Dumb move."

A few calls were made after he slept it off, and found out that all of his stuff was being stored at the apartment where the party was! It was said that he was in such of a drunken stupor, so for his "safety," his things were put away. Excuse me for my harsh language, but I have to call Bravo Sierra on this one. With my five semesters of college experience, I smell a prank, especially if a fraternity is involved. If he was in such a bad sate, why not keep him there? Let him sober off, and send him on his merry way. After hearing their story, he actually BELIEVED them!

I was heading back to Sleepy Hollow, so we hopped on the Q train back to Manhattan. He got off on Canal Street back to Chinatown while I continued my trip to Grand Central Terminal so I can go home. When I arrived, I called to see if he got back to Brooklyn safe and sound. He did, with all of his possessions in tact. If there was one good thing to come out of this adventure of his, I'd say this...

At least his asshole wasn't sore when he woke up.


***Random funny pic***