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Missing in Mahwah

We all have that friend. You know who I’m talking about. The friend that manages to find themselves in the most ridiculous of circumstances – especially when alcohol is involved. The one who, when drunk, is the first bitch dancing on the bar, loses her phone, thinks that espanol is her native tongue when she is actually Irish and German, and will randomly bring a middle-aged Indian man to your friends’ apartment one night who refuses to leave until she bids him goodnight. You know that friend. My bff/sometimes bane of my existence, Samantha (Sam, or boo boo, as she is stored in my cellular device), is this particular friend of mine. So it should come as no surprise that a night out drinking together concluded in a place where I never thought I would ever end up – the police station of the quiet suburb of Mahwah, New Jersey.   

Saturday Night, 2:30 am.

 After a night of dancing, drinks and diner food, myself, Sam, and our other friend Maryanna find ourselves homebound on the NJ path train from Hoboken. As pictured below, it was easy to see it was a very successful night.


Left, Sam, the girl on the Milk Carton. Right, Maryanna.

            Before I continue you, let me paint for you this picture. Maryanna’s apartment is only two blocks from the train, about a one minute walk straight down the road. No turns required. So we decided to walk to and from the train. Apparently, that was not Sam’s plan.

            As we exited the train, Maryanna and I started sprinting hoping to escape out of the cold as soon as possible. There was Sam, lagging behind us. Partially disoriented after her train nap, and partially still incredibly intoxicated, she was not keeping up with our pace – but she was still behind us. Or so we thought. One moment there she was, hauling her drunk ass in our direction, and one moment later, she was gone. We turned around for two seconds –and POOF – my inebriated amiga was nowhere to be seen. Maryanna and I believe she is right down the street, still taking her sweet time home. I couldn’t call her, because during her nap on the train she dropped her phone and I scooped it up and put it in my bag. We decide to run upstairs and change. She is still not back so I decide to just pick her up in my car while she was strolling down the block. Off I go, scanning the side of the street. Nowhere. I hit the train station, stretching my neck out the window in hopes to get a glimpse of her tell-tale tush wandering around. Nothing. At this point, my internal alarms are now starting to become set off. I swing by Maryanna’s apartment and pick her up. We circle the block three times, and the whole time our sentiments mostly sounded as such,

“I’m going to fucking kill her”

“What an idiot”

“We must never, ever, underestimate Sam’s drunkness again”

Now, I panic. My internal sirens are blaring and I am on the brink of tears. How the hell can we not lose her in a packed bar town but somehow manage to lose her thirty seconds after exiting the train in a sleeping town?

Immediately, my mind wanders to all the horrible circumstances that she could be in, and that there is a good possibility that there will be a Lifetime movie made after this event. It would be titled something vague, like “Searching for Sam”, or “Never Came Home from Hoboken”. Ideally, Sam would be played by Scarlett Johanssen, her celeb dopple ganger. I go through my choices, and so far my only choices for red heads seem to be Emma Stone, who is at the point of her career where Lifetime isn’t an option, and Lindsay Lohan, who’s floundering career choice for Lifetime seems to be her only option. I guess I can handle that.

All of a sudden, Sam’s phone starts ringing. It was her father. FUCK. I knew that the only way he would be calling her at 3:25 in the morning meant one thing: she was safe somewhere, and got in touch with her father. Great. But I did know exactly where to find her.

Two minutes later, and located directly across the street from the train station, Maryanna and myself walked into the Mahwah Police Department. Ready to rescue/ream Sam.

We go to the window and asked the officer if Sam was here. Yes, she was. And her dad was coming. Even better. He tells us to take a seat.

As we sit, two beautiful, easily over six feet tall, dark and built police men come out and with a puzzled look ask us, “what happened? She thinks she’s in Yonkers.”

We explain. They are obviously still confused, but even moreso, slightly amused. They asked us where we were, what we were doing. We explained we were hanging out at Green Rock, to which they replied that’s funny, since she said she had a great time at Bahama Mama, a bar which we did not go to at all.

One of the police officers asked if we wanted to go back and see her. Maryanna declined, but I decided to go. As he escorted me to the back, the police officer says to me, “So, Hoboken, huh? With the states she’s in, she seems like she had a great time.” Great enough she did not want to come home, obviously.

We reach Sam’s holding room. The police officer walks in before me and announces to Sam that she has a guest. I hear Sam from inside shrieking, “Oh no! I don’t want to see…”

I walk in. “my dad”, she finishes, “ok good, you are not my dad.”

The scene that I walked into will forever be ingrained in my memory. Sitting with her eye liner running, giggling to herself sat Sam, surrounded by three standing, hulking, and hot Mahwah police officers, all who were just staring at her, looking less than amused. As I approach her my phone starts ringing – it’s Sam’s dad. I give Sam the phone and tell her to speak.

“No, I don’t want to talk to my dad”, slurs Sam.

“Sam, I am not speaking to him. Pick up the phone. NOW”. My tone was not nice.

“Helllllllloooooooooo, hi dad. No, I’m fiiiiiiine. Well I lost Erin but now I found her. It happens. She was lost but she is found…We are in Mahwah, NJ. Mahwah. That is not close to Yonkers”. No shit sloppy.  Sam continues to ramble until one of the police officers who very much resembled Dwight “the Rock” Johnson took the phone, exited the room, and reassured her father on the phone that she was fine and once again in the company of friends. With that, they release her drunk-ass over to us.

On the way home, Sam divulges us in the missing puzzle pieces to this story. Apparently, as she exited the train, the area resembled her hometown of Yonkers enough that she thought she was home. Sam is my only friend who actually gets delusional while drunk. I don’t understand. She took off, and started sprinting around, trying to get home. She went to a house that she thought a woman she knew lived in, saw the lights were on, and started banging uncontrollably on the door because she wanted to say hi. I can only imagine that poor woman listening to drunk Sam’s wrath so early in the morn. After an unsuccessful door-knocking measure, Sam continued running like a marathoner, and sprinted into the police station. She walked in, out of breath, which made the police think she was actually being chased. Instead, she went to up to the police officers, started talking about Yonkers, admitted to losing her phone and her friends, and just started sobbing. Then we collected her.

All of this – this whole debacle, happened in the span of TWENTY MINUTES. It’s amazing how the entire tone and atmosphere of a night can change so quickly.

So, fortunately, Sam is safe. Lifetime will not being buying the rights to her disappearance. But I will be buying a leash. And never letting her out of my sight ever again. Lesson learned.
And special thanks and shoutout to the Mahwah police department. Thank you! I hope that when filed, Sam’s crime was, “Way to White Girl Wasted”. 

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One comment

  1. vodkablogs says:

    Taking the train home from Hoboken – a lovely, debauched drunken world of passing out people lost in a world of booze.

    The city of drinking, the city of youth, the city of idiocy – Hoboken welcomes you!

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