Party Pooper

Mo and I have been friends since as long as I can remember.  We go in and out of contact, and we’ve kind of landed on being the kind of friends that don’t stay in touch, but nothing ever changes when we see each other.

It was St. Patrick’s Day, 2007, and Mo, Stacy, Mrs. Rogers and I were hanging out celebrating.  And by celebrating, I mean drinking copiously during the day and trying to find fun places to be that night.  Stacy’s friend was having a house party in Brooklyn, so we figured it would be a good place to land.  

We got off the train in Brooklyn, and walked/stumbled our way to Stacy’s friends’ apartment.  I couldn’t tell you where it was to save my life.  

We join the party in earnest, and it seems to accept us in turn.  I have no idea who any of these people are, so I spend most of my time asking the same people what their names are, with the promise that I’ll remember next time.  I still have no idea who they are.

We’ve all been drinking this whole time, and I notice a peculiar look in Mo’s eyes while we’re bullshitting in the kitchen.  I asked him if he was alright, and he responded by taking one step towards me and falling over…

I barely managed to stop him from breaking his fall with his head (at the time he was about 250-260lbs).  He came to a few seconds later with me kneeling over him and a ring of strangers around us.  I was able to convince him that the bathroom was the place to be (to the chagrin of the other partygoers, there was only one in the house).  I pushed him through the door, only to have it closed abruptly in my face.   Fearing that someone would walk in on him and think him dead, I sat protectively in front of the door, feeling like a guard dog, calling out occasionally to make sure he was still alive.

About 10 minutes later, Mo emerged from this bathroom, again to me surrounded by a ring of strangers (who are all wondering if he’s okay, and more importantly, can they use the bathroom now).  At this point, we decide that it’s time to take off.  We scored a little whiff while he was “occupied”, and wanted to bounce and do it somewhere else.

‘Somewhere else’ ended up being home, because we were all a little too drunk to be going back out.  We get outside, and Mo decides at that moment to let us in on a revelation.  He fainted because he had to poo.  No seriously, he passed out in the middle of a party because he had to take a crap.

Not to sound unsympathetic or anything, but we laughed our asses off (at him) all the way home.  You should have been there when we heard that he did the same thing in the middle of a Quizno’s six months later.  And they insisted that he be taken to the hospital in an ambulance, even after he explained that this wasn’t the first time this happened…