Max Fish. Site of many post-college nights that, frankly, they all blur into one drunken night. But Max Fish is where I spent much of my time, and I was eager to go with Scooby and Sunrise. So we walk down to Ludlow Street only to find…
… a line. A line? At Max Fish? Whaaaat? “Should we get in the line?” Sunrise asks. Um, no! No, we do not do lines and we certainly don’t do lines at Max Fish. That is wrong on too many levels to even think about.
Okay, so what to do next. It’s about 2:20 a.m. And, apparently, someone has to go to the bathroom (I saw someone because it was either Scooby or Sunrise, but I was too busy thinking about where to go next to pay any attention). “Fine,” I say. “We’ll go to Tweeds apartment and you can pee and we can figure out where to go next.”
“We can’t go to your sister’s apartment!” Sunrise says. “It’s 2:30 in the morning!”
“Yeah? So? She’s not far. Let’s go.”
We walk over to the Tweedle Twins’ apartment. “You’re not really going to buzz her, right?” Sunrise asks, looking for reassurance, I think, that on some level I’m a person respectful of my sister’s right to a peaceful night at home. “I mean, she’s probably asleep by now.”
I don’t bother answering. Instead, I hit the buzzer. “She’s never going to answer,” Sunrise said.
“Yes, she will,” I said, and sure enough, the buzz came.
Sunrise shook her head in shock the whole way up. “I cannot believe she let you in.”
Upstairs we were greeted by the Tweedle Twirp, who not only let us use her bathroom, but also gave us some of the Tweedle Twin’s birthday cake.
Sunrise & the Tweedle Twirp
At about 3 a.m., we were fortified to continue our bar crawl. “Sophie’s it is,” I said, Sophie’s being the bar I spent the absolute most time in during my underaged college years.
Sophie’s is exactly the same as it was in the late 1980s. The only difference is that someone is standing at the door, carding everyone. Including me! I was so happy, I about kissed the guy. He was so pleased that I was pleased that he let me card him. Yeah, writing that, it doesn’t make must sense, but in the moment, it was fabulous.
We got our beers (by this point, Scooby was drinking Sprites), and sat at the back table, where an artist who was going to be as famous as Jackson Pollack (or maybe he said painted like Jackson Pollack? I really wasn’t paying that close attention) started hitting on Sunrise. Sunrise was quite pleased. He offered us all weed, but then rescinded the offer when he heard we all had children. Never mind that he looked young enough to be one of our children. Somewhere in my Twitter feed it says that Sunrise spanked a man. Must have happened at Sophie’s. I really don’t remember it.
At about 3:40, I was ready to go, but both Scooby and Sunrise mentioned they had never made it to last call. So we stayed. And we had last call. And they were happy. And then they said that they had never been kicked out of a bar at closing. So we stayed. And we got kicked out after Sunrise tried planking on the bar stools (yeah, I had never heard of planking, either, but this is what real suburban haus fraus apparently do for fun). And they were happy.
It’s 4 a.m. The bars in NYC are now closed. Time for everyone to crawl drunkenly into bed and pray that the hangover doesn’t hit. Except. Except. Except this is NYC. The city that doesn’t sleep. The city where anything can happen. And so our night yet continues on….
