My Ideal Hangout Vibe

Tell me this wouldn't hit!

Lately I’ve been asking myself, “What’s the move tn…” with alarming regularity. Not even messaging it on WeChat to my friends or anything, just muttering it to myself. And it just goes to show that even the hottest, sexiest, The Ones Who Pack The Most Heat of us all can be adrift at sea sometimes. We can feel lost and alone, too, unsure of where life’s traffic control towers may usher us next. But this is generally what I would like to do if someone were to be like, “Yo what’s your vibe tn? Wanna hang” and I would wait a few minutes before responding with “Yooo let’s go. Down for anything”

Step One: We Meet Up At A Neutral Location, Or My Place

I’ve already got a cortado ready to go for you

You pull up to the crib and hit the buzzer, and then I let you in. We dap each other up and exchange various common greetings: “How you been?”; “It’s fuckin hot out”; “Don’t worry about it, it always falls down, I gotta get my super to fix it.” Then we proceed to sip a number of beverages. Throwing Fits is already soundtracking our conversation through my interconnected Sonos setup.

I light some incense with a sick branded lighter from OnlyNY and ask you to come watch some user-generated content on the couch with me. I fire up the Roku YouTube app and we check out a video of an orangutan driving a golf cart. I ask you if you’re having a good time. Ideally, you respond, “Of course, man. Any time with you is gold/This date is going really well—[I should mention that this could either be a date or just chilling with my boy. The formula would be the same.]—and I love being around your aura. It’s so much fun to spend time with you and get to share in your interests, like this exquisite espresso pull and FX’s The Old Man, which I see you’ve queued up for us next. I haven’t seen the first four episodes, but sure, yes, we can watch Episode 5! I definitely am excited by a show led by Jeff Bridges and John Lithgow. I’m going to tell all my friends and acquaintances and career mentors that they should hang out with you, as well. There are few more soul-nourishing experiences than this, even in this swirling, awe-inspiring mecca of culture that we call New York City.”

We watch the latest episode of The Old Man, and then I force you to watch Industry. I go on a long spiel about how it’s the best show of the last two years and that you need to catch up before Season 2 comes out on August 1. You say you used to work in finance, so you find the premise both triggering and a little implausible. I try to play-wrestle with you, but I quickly turn slightly violent, giving you an Indian Burn until you promise to take it back. You yelp in pain and say, “Fine, fine, we can watch it! Jesus. And I don’t think you should call it an Indian Burn anymore.” Even though I didn’t even say the words, I just did it without naming what it was. Dumbass.

Now, a couple hours later, we’re primed for the rest of the night!

Step Two: I Phone A Friend

At this point I call another friend and ask what they’re up to. They will usually say they’re busy, but it’s OK with me. I am actually mostly just asking them for advice on what to do next. You're in the bathroom, ideally—the constant beverage consumption means I have ample opportunities to make this phone call.

My friend on the phone says, “Dude, you can’t just keep asking me what to do. It’s New York. Figure something the fuck out.”

“Sure, Bryce,” I say. “Sure. Let me just go back in time and make more friends than I know what to do with, so that I can approach my Thursday nights with the same zest and zeal that you’re able to. Real mature of you.”

“Sorry. I know that came off aggressive. It just gets exhausting having to act as your fucking, like, concierge. At a certain point…you kind of have to grow up, you know? We’re not teenagers at BBYO anymore.”

I take a long pause. “I know, I know. You’re right.”

You flush and wash your hands, and now I can hear you’re about to open the door.

“Quick, Bryce—something? This is the last time, I promise.”

“I mean…” He inhales audibly. “Sure. We’re doing Power Hour at Book Club in the East Village. Winner gets a free copy of the new Ottessa Moshfegh.”

“Is this a sponsored event? Like Book Club is supplying you guys with the beer and the free book and stuff?”

“Yeah. They’re bleeding customers left and right, and the publishing industry needs all the help it can get, right? So this is some kind of brand activation between Narragansett x PRH. Kind of a win-win for both Book Club and the publisher, as they’re able to bring the biggest fucking morons in the world into the world of literature through the magic of light beer sales.”

“I see. Have you read the reviews of the book, though? It doesn’t seem like it’s her greatest…”

“You’re wrong. I read an excerpt in Astra Mag and it’s totally transfixing. Fucking woke moralists like to paint her fiction as problematic, but she’s actually one of the few writers pushing the boundaries of what we consider socially acceptable to talk about in polite conversation.”

I tend to disagree, but at this point, I’m wondering why you haven’t left the bathroom yet. Perhaps something is wrong with my toilet.

“Fine. I’ll come. And maybe all that beer will be worth the free hardcover copy.”

Step Three: I Need You To Get Ready

I hang up and knock on the bathroom door. You say everything’s OK, but I’m jimmying the lock. It doesn’t work. I walk backwards in a straight line, then take a running start and launch myself into the door, shoulder-first. It doesn’t budge, so I do this a number of times, screaming, “GET THE FUCK OUT!!” with increasing venom. Finally, you open the door.

You’re crying. It turns out you’ve pinched a loaf so massive that even I wouldn’t know what to do with it. I hug you for a while, rubbing your back. It’s totally fine, we’ve all been here, etc. Except now the smell is getting to me—the log in question has been marinating in the toilet bowl water for a while, so the scent has kind of permeated the entire bathroom.

I quietly ask you to get the fuck out of the bathroom and bring me my fucking Byredo Blanche cologne while I roll up my sleeves and deal with it. I spray the room with Ben Gorham’s fantastic, understated fragrance, but to no avail; it still smells like fucking shit.

I call you back in. This might be a two-man/one man-one woman job (again, this could still be a date for me).

“Can you tell me a little more about this turd? Like, what did you eat this morning? It might help if I know how it could break down.”

You shake your head, as if it’s too embarrassing to recount what you ate. Brother—this is not the time to be embarrassed! I have to take care of this mud pie before we go and take one shot of beer every minute at Bookstagram’s favorite bar!

I grab you by the shoulders. “Hey. Hey. Look at me. Look at me, please. I need you to get it together. Get it together right now. We only have so much time before your BM ruins the entire evening I had meticulously planned for us. This is all your fault. Now if you want to make things right? If you want to atone, in some tiny way, for what you’ve done here? Go get ready. We’re gonna be drinking. A lot.”

You leave to go wash up, and I crouch down to grab my industrial strength plumber and fill up a bucket of water.

Now, in situations like these, timing is crucial. I need to perfectly coordinate the flush, the pouring of the bucket of water, and the act of plunging in rapid succession.

I do it perfectly on the first try, and now that that’s over, we make our way over to the East Village.

Step Four: My Preferred Method of Transportation Deters Us From Getting There, Or Having Any Fun, For That Matter

I say I want to walk there. You say, “To the East Village? From Sunset Park?”

I get so pissed at you for saying that. Like unspeakably pissed. What is wrong with everyone these days? No one wants to walk?

Fine. Take a CitiBike then, bitch. (If this were a date, I would not say “bitch.”)

You decide to take a CitiBike, and of course, every e-bike around us is not working. So I force you to take a normal CitiBike and walk it next to me instead of riding it. I don’t like scanning QR codes (data privacy), so I refuse to download the app. It takes us two and a half hours. By the time we get there, the brand activation is over.

Step Five: We Head Back To Mine ;)

“So…want to come up to mine for a coffee, or something?”

We walk back all the way and you join me for another expertly made flat white. It’s 2am EST now.

I yawn audibly and ask you to leave. You try to linger for a bit, hoping something more will happen, but it’s not going to. I can’t keep whoring myself out every time I hang out with someone, you know? I need to preserve a little mystery.

“Get out. Now.”

You leave without issue, and then you text me that you got home safely. I don’t respond or acknowledge it because I fell asleep right after you left. In the morning, I Venmo request you for the espresso drinks and part of my YouTube Premium subscription.

Ritam’s Footnote

You. Me. A glass of wine. Sitting on the floor. Talking about life, love, and everything in between. Reading an incredible and poignant debut YA novel from a POC author. Listening to Wizard Rock on the speakers. I talk about how I’ve been discovering new Javascript influencers that are changing my life, and you talk about the latest cancellation going on down at the ActBlue office. Yeah, that’s my ideal night, but I’m just sort of a different type of guy………..