Here’s a special bonus post to keep me on track after not writing yesterday after going to bed early after being up for the 36 previous hours. Going to Nassau Coliseum last Saturday reminded me of an earlier trip there:

We went to go see the Islanders play the Sabres. I was seeing a girl from Buffalo at the time and it was tough to get Rangers tickets, but easy enough to see the Islanders. We went with two of our friends who were also dating. The female friend was a huge Rangers fan. She and I were from the same hometown, and we later found out it was that very same Town of Huntington Night at the Coliseum. So there was a lot going on that night.

Our friends lived in Astoria and drove to work, so they were able to drive us out, the Ranger fan specifically. It was an easy drive and we got to our seats with no trouble. I thought about my first Islanders game, seventeen years earlier, almost to the day. We took some pictures for Buffalo Gal to send to her family, you know, just killed some time until the game started.

There wasn’t a whole lot to the game itself. The Islanders won 2-0. I was disappointed that Ryan Miller, who I’d heard great things about for a while, wasn’t playing. I did sit a row behind a girl I went to middle school with and wondered if adults on Long Island saw familiar faces like that all the time.

Anyway, the four of us headed out to the car. I put my stocking hat back on, buttoned up my coat. When we got to the parking lot, I let the three of them go ahead because I wanted to take what ended up being a dark, blurry picture of the Coliseum. I was a little dark and blurry myself, having had a few drinks.

I found my way through the maze of cars to the SUV our friend drove us in. Rear headlights on, exhaust going, ready to leave. I went to the rear passenger door and opened it up, squeezed my way in and sat down. The driver turned to me and said:

“What are you doing? Get the hell out of my car!”

I got in the wrong car.

Once I realized the driver was a woman I’d seen before, I started thinking, “Yeah, this really isn’t the right car.” The upholstery was leather and off-white, her husband or boyfriend or brother was in the passenger seat, he was older and had a bald spot, nothing added up at all. It felt like forever before I said anything but immediately I was apologizing profusely. I may have put my hands up but that might have been the scarier thing to do. I tried to explain that this was an honest mistake, the car I was looking for couldn’t have been more than ten feet away, I got turned around after wanting to take a picture, but these folks didn’t really care about any of that. They just wanted not to be murdered my me, the enormous guy with the stocking hat, and for me to just get the hell out of the car. The driver kept almost screaming at me for the few seconds until I left.

As I was leaving the guy turned and over his right shoulder offered up a meek, “That’s not cool, man.” I know it wasn’t cool, bro, I didn’t feel good about any part of it. In fact, those two cents were probably just to save a little face after his wife or girlfriend or sister took control and kicked the scary random guy out of their car. He might have had a couple of drinks himself anyway, who knows?

Couldn’t blame him.