The Trevor

Last night, I found myself in a dubious Korean-run karaoke bar on the fifth floor of an office building in midtown Manhattan (as one is wont to do). The place itself was fairly unmemorable; if you've been in one establishment of it's kind before, you truly have been in them all, although I do give them bonus sleaze points for selling beer on the sly in an effort to skirt NYC's pesky and byzantine liquor-license laws. But that's okay. Because therein was a perfect example of a brilliant party fixture just waiting to be rediscovered; one I hadn't seen in quite a while...

As we were being shown to our room, I decided that a pit stop was in order. I opened the door to the men's room and it was then that I came face to face with a fixture of any scene where alcohol plays a larger-than-average role... I was in the presence of a "Trevor."

You've seen them before. They're young; a few years shy of the legal drinking age, at least. They're dressed like they're going to a JV football banquet; striped polo shirt (tucked in), jeans with a belt, pukka shell necklace that their "cool" older brother brought back for them as a souvenier from his trip to Cabo, fitted baseball cap, expensive shoes. They're drunk beyond all rational comprehension; they've only ever had a few beers at a time before, they don't know their own limit, and even if they did it wouldn't matter, seeing as how they sprinted past that particular line hours ago. They're away from home for the first time; freshman year at NYU is just so wicked awesome, dontcha know. They are named Trevor, even if they're not; Caleb, Drew, Blake, Eli, The Brodie-meister, it doesn't matter... in the eyes of the world, they are...shouted to the heavens, the stuff of legends... TREVOR: THE DRUNK KID IN THE BAR BATHROOM!!!

My Trevor had his head in the sink and his feet on the floor, his body bent nintey degrees at the waist. He had vomited very recently (the whole bathroom stunk of it) and just before the blackout hit him, he'd managed to turn on the cold water; it was running down the side of his face at full blast. He did not move for the duration of my pee, and when I left, there he remained. And so he did for the two subsequent times that I visited the men's room; on my final visit, he was joined there by another, slightly-less inebriated Trevor, who was urging him to arise, to awake; it was time for the Trevors to depart.

"Dude, we gotta... like... go. Dude... dude... hey, dude... are you okay... dude?"

My Trevor mumbled something in response and he managed to stand up straight and I could tell by looking into his eyes that he was drowning in very cheap beer. His tomorrow would come bearing the worst hangover of his life and he would pray for death.

But that's okay; such is the life of a Trevor. We wouldn't have it... or them... any other way. Because, and you know this much is true, the Trevors are hilarious! Fuck, I wish you could have seen this kid!!! All sleeping in the sink with puke on his pants.

God love ya, Trevor. You and your kind make nights out amazing.