When we last left our hero, he had way too much to drink. Like seriously, too much. If a cop made him blow into a breathalyzer the breathalyzer would’ve puked on the cop’s shoes, picked a fight with the radar gun and cried about an ex girlfriend. He had befriended some teenagers who were looking for date rape drugs thinking they were regular drugs and continued his stumbling, meandering path home. Now, let’s join our inebriated adventurer in another exciting episode of “Drunk Post!”



My night was coming to an end. Between the conversation with the kids and the long walk I felt sober enough to collapse into bed without any horrible dizziness. I was literally a block away from my home when I walked past a guy and he asked if he could use my cellphone. I obliged. He seemed polite enough. Maybe he was just another dude who liked to wander around when he’s had too much to drink. Maybe we could start a group. Call ourselves “The Afterbar Stumblers”. Order some jerseys. Make a facebook page.

Getting off track here.



He said that his cellphone was dead and he left it in his friend’s apartment. He called, got a voicemail and left a message along the lines of “hey, I’m outside man. This drunk dude lent me his cellphone since mine’s dead so call me back on this number if you get this in the next few minutes” and gave me back my phone. He asked if I could hang out for a minute in case his friend calls and I say “no problem”.



After a couple minutes of small talk we hear some activity in the back of the apartment building. Joe (not his real name) suggests we go back there to see if anybody can let us in. There’s a shirtless dude with dreadlocks in the doorway. Joe asks Dreads (probably not this guy’s real name either but that’s what everybody called him. No lie) if he can get into the apartment to retrieve his cellphone charger. Dreads, with an eerily calm and placid voice, said “Man, you muthafuckas better get outta here. There’s people here that wanna shoot you.”



I, with a voice that attempted to be calm but probably failed at it, said “well we should go away from here, then because I don’t want to be shot.” Dreads looked at me, back to Joe and said “I dunno who this muthafucka is but you should listen to him”. Joe said “We’re not going to get shot” to me dismissively and immediately turned his attention back to Dreads. “I tried to call him but my phone’s dead and I don’t know if he won’t call numbers he doesn’t recognize but my charger’s in there”. Dreads reiterated that there were people who would shoot him and they wouldn’t give a fuck who I was so I should just go. I obliged and walked towards the front of the building. Joe jogged to catch up to me and asked if he could use my phone again.



I said yes because I’m an idiot.



After Joe called “him” again and left a message, another guy walked up to us. Slick Rick (again, probably not his name but that’s what Joe and “him” called him) came up to Joe and asked if “he” was around. Joe said he tried calling him on my phone but hasn’t got a call back yet. Slick Rick asked if he could use my phone and called “him”, leaving a message. Slick Rick said that “he” wasn’t home but if he could get into the building he could get into the apartment. Slick Rick asks if I can stay around for a few minutes in case “he” calls back and I say “sure, whatever”. In for a penny, in for a pound.



A few minutes go by and somebody leaves the apartment building. Slick Rick runs to the door before it closes, Joe follows and asks if it’s cool if I stay outside. I tell him that it’s no problem. Joe asks if I’m sure that it’s cool? I smile and tell him that at this point I want to see how this all plays out.



They’re at the top of the stairway in the three story building (I can see because the stairway has floor-to-ceiling glass windows) using my phone and it just hits me. Right then. This epiphany is followed up immediately by the realization that 20 minutes ago somebody casually mentioned that there are people in that building who wouldn’t hesitate to shoot me



I finally realize that these two guys are strung out crackheads and “he” is a crack dealer. They have spent the last 20 minutes repeatedly calling a crack dealer with my phone while I hang outside a crack dealer’s apartment at 3:30 AM.



They come back down, Slick Rick is on the phone with “him” (hooray! They finally got a hold of “him”). After some “yeahs”, “uh huhs” and a “he’s right here”, Rick hands me the phone and says “he” wants to talk to me. I get on the phone and “he” asks me my name. I tell “him”. “He” asks me what’s my story and I tell him how I was walking home, Joe asked to use my phone yada yada. Joe asks to talk with “him” and I give Joe the phone. Joe nervously asks “him” for 20 dollars that’s apparently owed, he’s told to head several blocks northeast to meet “him” and gives the phone to Slick Rick.



Joe jumps in his car, thanks me for using my phone and gets out. It’s about 4:15 AM now.



While Joe’s gone, Slick Rick says to “him” on the phone “Man, I don’t know what that white boy’s problem is, talkin’ ’bout you owing him $20. All I know is that I’m finna get into this apartment by hook or by crook. I’ll see if this drunk mufucker can stick around with his phone. Alright.” He asked if I’ll stick around for a few minutes and I agreed to because who fucking even knows? I’m dumb. Slick Rick assures me I’ll be compensated for my troubles when “he” shows up but I told him that I really just wanted to go to sleep.



A few minutes go by and Joe comes back, stating that “he” wasn’t where “he” said “he’d” be so Joe asked if he could use my phone to try to reach “him” again. I let him. No answer. We wait around for a while in silence and I said “Hey guys? You ever read ‘Waiting for Godot'” and they both stared at me in confusion. “That’s too bad because this is totally like ‘Waiting for Godot’ except… nevermind”.



A couple of minutes after my hilarious and underappreciated Beckett reference, a group of 4 latino men walk out of the apartment. Slick Rick makes his way to the door to try to get in and they block the way, asking if he lived there. Slick Rick got real pissed and screamed “man, my motherfucking friend lives in 11! Y’all trying to start shit?” As Rick walks toward the dudes with his arms in the air while clutching my phone I ask Rick if he could hand me my phone before getting into a streetfight. He comes back, puts the phone in my hand and the latinos walk away. He turns around and said “Yeah, just walk away!”



Oh shit, I had my phone. I could leave



I mean, I’m pretty sure I could have left at anytime but I’m such a pussy I let these guys take my phone hostage for two hours. I tell them that I have to go because I’m about to pass out. They call “him” one more time but “he” doesn’t answer. I left at 5:05 AM a little disappointed that I didn’t get to see “him” in person. What was “he” like? I imagined The Kingpin. The Michael Clarke Duncan Kingpin from the shitty Daredevil Movie, though. Not the comic book Kingpin.

Before I left I made sure to invite them both to my show at the CCUG that night. Slick Rick gave a very nonchalant “maybe” but Joe was incredibly interested and even gave me his phone number to call him later to remind him. On the way to the Corner Bar that night I actually debated calling him but then I saw my call history with the 20 dials to the crack dealer and decided against it.