Saying good-bye is harder when you're drunk. Or maybe not?

Last night, after making a few phone calls and boiling some pasta, a bunch of us at Purchase had a small going-away party for our good friend Mike. He's going to be in Hawaii working for John's Hopkins as a Resident Assistant Coordinator, what we call an RC around the Purch. Everyone is fairly jealous of his job because a) it pays pretty well and b) IT'S IN HAWAII!! Funny thing is though, Hawaii was Mike's last choice of sites to work at and has been resentful of it ever since he found out he was going. Mainly because he doesnt like oceans, islands or heat and it was going to be super expensive to get there--planes aren't cheap you know!

Anyhow, we got together, ate some food, watched Hairspray and then decided to get nostalgic and put on last year's RA-Vue. While the quality of the DVD wasn't spectacular, we were all in a riot watching the GLBTU Dance, the LARPer Battle and Brand New Day. I have a feeling that (and the beer) is what got Cole all riled up for later on. STAY TUNED!

At about midnight, I was up the block talking to Tim about today's video shoot for the Orientation Videos when I hear Cole yelling, "Al, where the hell are you...we're going to White Plains!" In my mind, I pictured us going to Stop&Shop to pick up some food and, more than likely, some beer. Instead, Cole blew my mind with this once. "We're going out to a bar to drink with Juli and Bro-Bunk next door." Juli is a pseudo-boss of ours who is leaving Purchase today. Twenty-Six, short, spunky, athletic and knows how to drink. Bro-Bunk is the apartment next to ours which is occupied by three baseball players living in a single bedroom. Every inch of wall space is a clash between Yankees and Braves memorabilia.

I'm understandably hesitant at this proposition. Cole's already had a few drinks earlier in the night and was antsy, Steve was practically comatose on the couch, Kyle, a neighbor from across the street and persistent guest was twenty and I had work at 8:30 in the morning. Here's how we got around all that! Steve drank some iced tea, gave Kyle a fake ID and decided he'd drive. That and I'm horrible with peer pressure, especially when the pressure is coming from Cole sitting on my chest yelling at me to be his friend.

We get into the bar without a problem. It's your typical sports bar--nothing flashy, a bunch of tv's hanging on the walls, old regulars looking at the new breed of boozers that will undoubtedly call this place "The Bar" at some point in their lives. All the girls were orange and all the guys had gel in their hair and smoked menthol cigarettes. You know this place. You've been here hundreds of times.

Juli and Bro-Bunk are already pretty forgone at this point--easily a few pitchers of beer in. So what to do in this situation? Play catch up. Cole slapped down his debit card and within SECONDS we were two pitchers of Bud Light richer. Juli kept the supply of light beer coming and before we knew it, Cole was getting hit on by an Ogre. That's when we knew to call it a night. This is at 2:30.

The ride home was fine--Steve was pretty much completely sober but having Cole in the passenger seat was a mistake we didn't see until it was too late.

Just as we get onto campus, Cole gets a phone call and Steve pulls around and BACK TO WHITE PLAINS TO PICK UP JULI & BRO-BUNK. But first, Cole had to pee, so we did what any good group of friends would do--drop him off in the woods and turn the car so that the headlights are facing right at him and start honking.

We needed to get gas before making the run, so we stopped at a Mobil where we found out that Juli & Bro-Bunk had somehow made it to Hubba's in Port Chester (which is about 15 minutes away from White Plains). For those unaware, Hubba's is literally a hole-in-the-wall with two entrances--one in the front and one in the back. They cook up greasy, fatty, wonderful food served on paper trays with a Styrofoam cup of Hubba Water. It's basically tap water with a drop of fruit-punch added to it. They dry their french fries in a cardboard box when they're fresh out of the fryer. Cole swears he caught his meningitis from there.

It's already 3am at this point and I need to go to sleep, so on the way to Po-Cho, Steve drops me and Kyle off. As Steve speeds away, we both pray we see both of them again.

About 40 minutes later, I'm half asleep and hear honking and yelling. It's Steve and Cole, Hubba's cups in hand.