The Stranger

by gooseandsoda

One of my best friends came to visit me for a weekend in NY.  He flew in on a Friday night, and of course we immediately hit the bars to start drinking.  We met up with some other friends of mine, as well as his, and long and obvious story short I got hammered and blacked out.

Cut to the next morning when I come to on the air mattress I had set up for him in my living room. I remember waking up and thinking, “Why am I here? Oh that’s right, because my asshole friend passed out in my bed last night, forcing me to sleep on the air mattress instead.” I groped around blindly for my phone, located it, and looked at the screen. I had a bazillion missed calls and text messages from my friend. They started around 3A with “Where are you?” and escalated into increasingly panicked texts and a couple voicemails about him not being able to find me, not knowing where he was or how to get back to my apartment, and ending with “My phone is dying. I’m at the Trump in SoHo, meet me there at noon.” I looked at the time, it was 10A, so I’m thinking I have puh-lenty of time to get ready and get down there.

Then, it hit me.

If it wasn’t my friend who passed out in my bed, forcing me to sleep on the air mattress…then who was it?

I stand up and creep over to the doorway of the bedroom and peek in – there is some guy passed out on my bed, wearing an outfit nearly identical to what my friend had been wearing, and bearing a very slight physical resemblance to him (tall, dark haired, Caucasian). It takes me a minute to process in my still-drunk state, but when it does, I am all like:


So now I’m trying to figure out how to go about waking this guy up to kick him out. I believe my friend to be safe and sound with the friends he had in NY, hanging at the Trump SoHo…until about 10 minutes later when he showed up at my front door with this look on his face:

You’re DEAD.

He proceeds to relay to me that after losing me and his other friends, he wandered the streets of New York for HOURS trying to figure out where he was and how to get back to my place. He took himself to breakfast in TriBeCa circa 5A (we had been nowhere near there, or SoHo for that matter, so he basically walked nearly the entire lower section of Manhattan), and then his phone died and he was totally cut off. In my defense, his other friends didn’t answer their phones either, and common sense would say that he should have just checked into a hotel room and called it quits earlier. I felt terrible, and apologized profusely, and meanwhile The Stranger in my bedroom woke up and was probably VERY confused as to where he is or how he got there.

My friend started to change to finally get some rest, and the moment he was down to just his boxer shorts in my living room, The Stranger decided to pop out of my bedroom, thereby resulting in perhaps the most awkward 30 seconds of that poor guy’s life. Also probably the most terrifying as he contemplated whether we were about to rob/rape him. The Stranger said, “Good morning.” My friend, who had already heard I took someone I thought looked like him home, gives The Stranger a death glare similar to the one he gave me. The Stranger said, “We’ll, I’ll be going now” and ran out the front door.

My friend turned to look at me and went, “Are you fucking serious??? I look NOTHING like that guy!!!!”