Juice's St. Patrick's Day

Story and photos courtesy of Focks:

Julie and I brought Juice to Saloon (84th and York) where many of Julie's friends were celebrating St. Patrick's Day. Upon arriving (8:30pm-ish), we immediately notice every single person is completely wasted. In effort to 'catch up' to everyone, the three of us decide to begin double-fisting Bud Light cans. Julie knows every single bartender (and probably knows 20% of the entire crowd) so we begin doing Jameson shots and chasing them with beer. Once he is finished talking with a few girls (i.e. Girl Juice used to babysit, Irish Charo, Beverly Hills girl, a few of Julie's friends), we go back to the bar and drag Julie to get us more drinks. The bartender explains to us how he lost Juice's (one and only) credit card and tells us drinks are free for the remainder of the night.
As the drinking continues and the bar is utterly chaotic, Juice decides to elevate his speed of inebriation by drinking a full glass of Jameson (as if he is drinking water). The results of this move will prove costly.

As the night rolls on, Julie and I are beginning to lose sight of Justin. At roughly 1am, Julie and I find Juice leaning/swaying against a railing and acknowledge it's time to go because he's about to drop to the floor.

We find a cab and throughout the entire ride, Juice is visibly wasted and mumbling and the non-english speaking driver is laughly hysterically. On the FDR, the driver locked the doors because Juice was trying to open them. We tell the driver he is always like this and not to worry.

As we exit the cab on 18th Street and 3rd Avenue, Juice's drunk hysteria takes full effect as he tries to run north up 3rd avenue away from his building. I immediately chase him and push him toward the building. Of course, he is very stubborn and he drops to the ground.



Fiiiiiinally, he gets off his buttocks, starts walking and then attempts to wrestle me.




At this point, he drops on his back on the freezing cold sidewalk and becomes a disaster.






After about 5 minutes of lying on his back, he turns over and lies his head on the snow.




Of course, he has no idea what is going on; he has no idea that the beige concrete and dirty white snow is not his bed. I'm finally able to physically remove him from the ground and we walk in to the building where the doorman is laughing as well. The three of us get in the elevator. I press 6 (it should have been 3) for Juice and 14 for Julie and me. Juice gets off on the 6th floor and that's the last we see of him. Julie recommends that we stop and go back and help him but after about an hour of his antics, I tell her he will be fine.

His version the next day: Juice wakes up in his apartment and finds a pile of vomit on his rug, which he immediately threw in the garbage. He later asks me how the night was.