Another One Bites The Dust

“I got this.”

Tina, one of my closest friends, had just broken up with her boyfriend and was devastated. So we obviously decided to go out, have many drinks and flirt with boys. It was a Thursday night, and Tina, her coworker Alison and I headed to Professor Thom’s in the East Village. Tina started ripping shots immediately—and found a guy who was willing to buy her those shots shortly after.

Not really in a shots mood, I introduced myself to Stan, the cute stranger next to me at the bar.  After chatting for a little, I decided that he was kind of perfect. He was tall and gorgeous, we had both been English majors, and he’d grown up in the city where I went to college. Things were going great, and we eventually migrated to a table where we could actually hear each other. Then I noticed Tina, who was starting to slide off her bar stool. Her man had clearly ditched her.

I motioned to Alison, who had been chatting up another guy. “Maybe we should take her home,” she said.

I knew she was right. “Let me close my tab,” I said. “You keep an eye on her.”

Stan came with me to the bar, and we continued chatting while waiting for the bartender. I must have lost track of time, because what seemed like a minute later—just as Stan was asking for my number—Alison approached.

“We have a problem,” she said. “Tina’s been in the bathroom for over ten minutes, and she won’t respond when I knock.”

I followed her into the women’s room, which had two separate bathrooms inside, with full wooden doors. We banged on the one with Tina inside, screaming her name. No response.

‘Oh my God,’ I thought. ‘She’s dead.’ We tried unlocking the door with a credit card, but it had a metal slide lock, which wouldn’t budge. When she’d been in there for over 20 minutes, Alison and I both started freaking out.

“Wait here,” I said, and went out to the bar. Stan was waiting for me. He saw the panic on my face and asked what was wrong. When I told him, he just shook his head, clearly wanting to escape this awkward situation as quickly as possible. I didn’t have time to talk him out of running, and went to the bar to explain what had happened to the bartender. She followed me into the bathroom, knife in hand, and tried to jimmy the lock with no success. We banged and yelled until we were hoarse, but no response from Tina. It had been almost 40 minutes.

The bartender suggested we involve the bouncer. When we emerged from the bathroom to get him, Stan had moved clear to the other side of the bar.

A crowd had formed around the bathroom now, and our only option, it seemed, was to break down the door. Luckily, the bouncer on duty that night was huge, and it only took one running shoulder for him to break the lock.

We were in. And Tina did not look good. The crowd gasped at the sight of her. She was sitting on the toilet, pants around her ankles, hanging forward between her legs, completely passed out. The bouncer helped us lift her, and Alison slapped her across the face. Nothing, but at least she was breathing. She’d also pooped. We got her pants up, flushed the toilet and dragged her out of the bathroom. I took a quick glance around the bar, and immediately noticed that Stan had left, never to be heard from again.

Tina slept it off and remembered nothing the next day. I, however, was left with the pangs that, because of her, my potential dream man had gotten away.

—Raz, 25, NYC