Out with the Interns

I came to NYC for an internship at a major art museum. At the end I was offered a meager part-time job, but it was a job so I accepted. Not quite ready to move on, I still hang out with some of the museum's interns. They are a few years younger than me but that hasn't stopped me before. Here are descriptions of the interns in question. The first was an adorable blonde girl from San Diego. She had a high-pitched voice and called people “silly”. She is genuinely one of the nicest people I have ever met. We'll call her Cali. The next was the token gay guy. He was of course attractive and fabulous and barely 21. We will call him Klaus because he had hung out with the infamous director of MoMA PS1, Klaus Bisenbach, on a date with his older married lover. The next one in the lineup was JAP (need I say more). A sorority girl at her Midwestern college, but actually pretty awesome. And finally Francais, who had been an intern when I was an intern and had gone out with me previously—with GF and when OG was in town. The group would go out to lunch every week and we went out for a few happy hours. Here is the rundown of the best.

This first night was relatively calm. Cali and I trucked up to the Upper West Side after work to meet up with Francais. She had been very busy writing her thesis and Cali had very sweetly put together a gift bag of treats to motivate her (Smart water, Smarties, you get the idea). We met her for dinner and drinks and luckily for us frozen martinis and margaritas were $4. After quite a few of those we decided to head to one of the bars nearby to see where the night took us. Nowhere good. On this night the bar happened to be filled with gross individuals. We tried a couple, stood in the doorway surveying, and finally settled on the one that looked the least offensive. We sat at some couches in the corner and to my dismay the girls began to talk to anyone who walked by in the hopes that we could get free drinks. Not a bad idea in theory but was it really worth it to sing for your supper? I always say no and especially not with these toads. I just can't put on a smile for these f-ers and I'm usually always bitchy. Before I knew it I had a short little weirdo perched on the chair I was sitting in, accompanied by his friend with an afro and white crocs. I glared at them but they kept chatting and sticking around. They wouldn't get the hint that we wanted them gone after they failed to produce drinks. They even reappeared somehow when we changed locations. Not good. But luckily they were giving out free zippos at the bar so I am now the proud owner of one engraved with my initials.

This next happy hour was a bit more eventful. I met up with Cali and Jap in Chelsea and we walked over to a bar Cali was eager to return to. Apparently the last time she had gone she had received multiple free drinks. We met her friend on the way, who while waiting on the corner, had someone approach her and wanted to know if she was hooking, Luckily we arrived to save her and headed into Bull's Head Tavern. It was filled with finance douches in blazers and only became more crowded as the night progressed. Cali was the star; she had multiple guys approach her. She would introduce all of us but they only had eyes for her. After I failed to have any sort of beverage gifted to me I turned my attention to my phone. Lace and I had been texting and were discussing possibly meeting up. I decided that this should happen and I instructed him to meet me there. He arrived at the same moment the girls decided to get food. It was too crowded to catch up to them and communicate to Lace where we were going, so I lost them. There I was in an entirely too crowded bar, alone with a guy I barely recognized. Might as well go with it. There was no hope of getting to the bar so we changed locations to a wine bar a couple blocks away. It was pretty empty so we sat outside on the patio. To my dismay, Lace was rude to the waiter and may have even called him bro, which I try to block out of my mind. As we sat facing each other I realized I had no idea what to talk about. Luckily Lace had plenty to say about himself. As he blabbed away my urge to pee grew stronger and stronger. At the point when I was almost in agony there was a break in the conversation and I almost ran inside. When I returned he resumed his monologue and I resumed drinking. When it was my turn to speak I have no idea what I said but his conclusion was that my life was much more interesting than his. Very true. We also had two good interruptions throughout this ordeal. This first was by one of his fellow finance tools who ran over and gave him a high-five. The other was from a random bro walking by on the street asking if he had seen me on Eharmony. I retorted that it must have been Craigslist and gave him an enthusiastic wave while Lace watched me in horror. When the check came Lace lingered over it for a bit longer than he should have. I decided that this was a good time for another bathroom trip and luckily when I returned it had been paid. He then hailed us a cab so I could get to the nearest subway. He paid for that and very gentlemanly walked me into the station. We stood chatting awkwardly for a bit too long and his face was very close to mine. I waited and when nothing happened drunkenly decided that I would have to get it done. I kissed him quickly then turned and scampered away. In the end, Lace was not meant to be and we certainly won't be choosing our crazy celebrity baby names.

The final night out with the interns was the most rowdy, to the point of being out of control. Cali and I headed into the West Village after work in search of a pizza place she had heard was the best in the city. We arrived and ordered our slices. I am a huge pizza fan but this pizza sucked. I ate it anyway and pretended it was good to not offend. Afterwards we decided to get some drinks and we found a not too crowded Irish bar with a pretty good happy hour special. We had a couple and chatted about our college days, mine being much further in the past than hers. We were debating not going out but Klaus had invited us to a drag show in Hell's Kitchen he was attending with some friends that night and after a couple drinks this seemed like good idea. We were not dressed appropriately for the gays though so we made the unanimous decision to cab it to the H&M in Union Square, where we selected new outfits. Since this decision was made in the haze of alcohol I bought both a shirt and a skirt a size too small. We went around the corner to Starbucks, where I squeezed into my new ensemble in the bathroom and put on some makeup. Feeling slightly like a prostitute, we took the subway to the Financial District to meet Klaus at his friend's apartment. We had some drinks with the gays, although perhaps I should have paid more attention to how many drinks Cali was downing. I could tell she was drunk because her voice was even more high-pitched but apparently I forgot how out of control the young ones can get. After a bit we headed to the drag show where a huge black drag queen named Miss Peppermint was the host. Every performer sang Lady Gaga and I was for some reason especially supportive of the Queen with the huge rip in her tights. At this point I knew for sure Cali was wasted as she was screaming and dancing around with a Long Island in her hand. I didn't think much of it until I returned from the bathroom and Klaus informed me that Cali had just thrown up at the bar. I looked towards her in disbelief and sure enough there was the largest puddle of vomit I have ever seen in front of her. It was definitely time to leave. Klaus led her outside to hail a cab and because my bladder is the size of a marble I ran to the bathroom again. When I emerged the waiter was waiting—he got in my face and informed me that Klaus and Cali had ran out on their bill. I handed over my debit card as he berated me. Annoyed, I walked outside just in time to witness Cali fall off the curb. A cab was waiting and when I eventually got her off the ground I led her to it. I decided she was not able to make it home by herself so I hopped in with her and directed the driver to her apartment in the Upper West Side. On the way she puked again and the cab driver screamed at me. We finally made it, I paid and tried to help Cali into her apartment while avoiding the puke spots on her dress. I led her inside and after some time spent in the bathroom was finally able to lead her to her bed. I was drunk and exhausted at this point so I made up a bed for myself on the couch. I had no idea how she would get up for work but I set an alarm for her anyway. When I knocked on her door in the morning, she stretched in bed like she had just had the best night's sleep ever. When I asked her how she felt she replied “great!” and then directed me to the subway. The whole time I tried to avoid looking at the huge puke spot that was on the white pillow next to her. I let myself out and trucked back to my apartment where I proceeded to sleep for the rest of the day. It may not have been the most successful intern outing but at least I did not have the death of one of them on my hands.