You will be tickled pink to know that I had to cleanse…the black box theater. Ok, yes I understand I vomited in most of the front row of the theater but to have me clean it myself is a bit extreme. Why don’t they have the janitor do that…I understand a black box probably doesn’t have a janitor, but they should hire one in this circumstance. It is not my fault the bartender kept refilling my drinks…that I asked for. I mean, isn’t it their responsibility and legal obligation to cut me off at a certain point before I want to vomit? Isn’t that in their bartender training, or something? How is this on me? I’m not a doctor.

Anyway, the evening was quite lovely before this unfortunate circumstance. To be honest, I am not even sure how we made it to or got into a black box theater. We were at this posh speakeasy in Tribeca then all of a sudden I turned around and there we were in a black box theater watching a one woman puppet show. Quite a steep decline to the evening. Tribeca to black box is not how I pictured the culmination of the evening. I was 150% sure that the strapping young lad in the corner was going to whisk me off my feet and bring me home to his loft around the corner (assumption of mine). Yes I am aware he was talking to a girl. Gay men can speak to women, not against the gay law. Hm would we call that flirting? Each to their own interpretation, I suppose.

So anyway, when I had no reason to stay in the speakeasy, I left. Yes, I am aware he was not the only reason to stay in the speakeasy. But he was the best reason to continue my journey at that speakeasy and upon his departure, my time there had expired. No, I wasn’t following him. We were two gentleman on sidewalks near each other at the same time coming from the same speakeasy because he left so I left. Not the point. The point is when he went into a doorman building they would not let me through, so I went to the first open storefront in sight which was this horrible black box theater that has the expectation of a person cleaning up their own vomit.

If I had known it was a one woman puppet show, I obviously would have bowed-out. Probably what made me vomit. So really the theater should have cleaned up and refunded me the cost of my ticket and then some for the trauma I endured. Emotional stress, you would call it? That is what I tried explaining to them…very clearly and loudly. They said I was being a ‘disturbance’ so they called the cops, which was out of left field, so that is how I wound up in this correctional facility establishment until someone pays someone else and they let me leave.