The following takes place on the day of Cinco de Mayo. My name is Amish Shah, and this is the longest day of my life.

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9:00 AM: I spent the better part of the morning emailing back and forth between friends to figure out how we will celebrate the wonderful Mexican holiday of Cinco de Mayo.

11:46 AM: I get a firm-wide email from a lady in the Office of Diversity and Worklife at my company. Yes, we have an Office of Diversity and Worklife. It’s like CTU, only much more retarded, and politically correct. I shouldn’t have called it retarded. Its “challenged.” But I digress…Her email is an informative little piece on the history of Cinco de Mayo. I don’t remember any of the facts, other than it has something to do with the fifth of May, but the paragraph that stuck in my mind went like this:

Non-Mexican Americans also participate in the celebrations, much in the same manner that non-Irish Americans observe St. Patrick’s Day, with holiday-themed parties marked by the consumption of Mexican food, tequila and Mexican beer.

“Oh god!,” I think to myself. “I’m a Non-Mexican American!” This day will not end well.

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5:30 PM: I am supposed to meet the gang at Calico Jack’s, but work is busy and I can’t get out. I don’t know it at the time, but this is not good. Bad things are going to happen.

6:33 PM: I finally get out of work and head over to Calico Jack’s. I am late, and now it seems that EVERY NON-MEXICAN AMERICAN IN NYC is there to celebrate. The line is huge and unmoving. “What would Jack Bauer do?,” I think to myself. I immediately call in for tactical support. Briggs comes up with a tactical plan and beams his coordinates to my phone. I bypass the line, and walk right up to the bouncer (yes the restaurant had a bouncer).

“I was just outside having a smoke. My friends and I are sitting at a table under the projection screen in the back.”

He nods his head. IT WORKS. I am in. The next hour and a half is marked by the consumption of Mexican food, tequila, and Mexican beer. Ms. Diversity, you were right.

8:12 PM: Asian Subplot Boy arrives. I don’t really know who he is, but he will be a factor in the night, I just know it.

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8:47 PM: We leave Calico Jack’s. The weak go home. A few of us remain, including Asian Subplot Boy. He is now wearing a leather jacket, aviator sunglasses (its dark out), and is talking incessantly. I want to put a bullet in him, but I’m lucky to be standing straight up. We decide to go to the west village to meet up with some other friends.

8:49 PM: While in the cab, we pass a Taco Bell. Where do you think the conversation went? I proclaim my love, as I always do. A couple of the girls we’re with are cracking up. Asian Subplot Boy, who is one of those socially challenged douchebags that must constantly brag about something to make himself seem cool, challenges me and says he loves it more.

I will digress from the story here…If there’s one thing I hate, its people thinking they are bigger Taco Bell fans than me. Face it people, you are not. Asian Subplot Boy, you definitely are not. There’s only a handful of people, namely my sister and some of the Ann Arbor crew (Mitesh, Rishi, Sachin) that can even try to compete. I am the Michael Jordan of Taco Bell. I am to Taco Bell what Jared is to Subway. Only I’m not losing any weight.

9:34 PM: Turner and I are pounding beers like its St. Patrick’s Day. We’re talking about standup comedy and how we should write a movie together. I am also trying to work my way onto a beer pong table. I’m trying to argue that I was next and point to the sign up board, but everyone at the bar is claiming I’m not. They’re probably right. DAMMIT!

10:51 PM: Asian Subplot Boy walks up to me and says “Quick, where’s the nearest Taco Bell?” I almost throw him down a stairwell. I’m not a circus act, you dumb fuck. Just because I am the world’s biggest taco bell fan, you do not have the right to ask me stupid shit like that. (even though I did know the answer). Fortunately, he left soon after this. I might’ve broken a few of his fingers if he didn’t.

11:27 PM: I get in touch with my roommates. They’re at a bar in the lower east side. I grab the two friends that are left and head over there.

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11:33 PM: We get to the bar, and I realize there’s a shitload of Michigan friends I know and some NYU people I know through rishboo. Everyone else is NOT as drunk as me. “Oh god,” I think to myself. “The night is just beginning…” I hold myself up with the nearest chair.

I survey the situation. My friends are all scattered around different tables (there really were a LOT of people I knew there). Sujeet is sitting at a table with some people I don’t recognize. Some girl named Lisa and some other gigantic beast of a man. He looks like George Costanza meets Warren Sapp. Big, white, and bald. I get up…I should not be sitting here. Bad things might happen.

I make my way over to another table. Bailey is there. I like running into him at the bar. Its always good times, and we end up yelling “Yellow” a lot (reminiscing on one of my other drunkest nights of my life). He’s got a sweet jacket on. I obsess over it. Its green.

12:23 AM: Sachin tries to tell the “Are farts lumpy?” joke. Normally he uses me as the butt of the joke, so I get up from the table before he can deliver it. He later tells me the joke bombed because I wasn’t there for it.

12:39 AM: There’s a girl named Monica here and she is kinda crazy. Or maybe I’m drunk. Or maybe both.

12:58 AM: Turner has disappeared with random girl who Natalie is subletting from. I think her name was also Natalie. Dave would later tell me “wow she was a lot better looking last night.”

1:35 AM: Chad is wearing a silver chain. He’s so bling. It hurts my eyes.

2:00 AM: We make our way out of the bar. The night is over. Thank God.

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2:01 AM: Or is it…We spill out on the street, and somehow end up at a Karaoke place. And I’m not talking about a Karoke bar where there’s some random group of lightweight, unattractive girls trying to belt out their version of Britney Spears doing “I love Rock & Roll” in the corner. I’m talking about Karaoke like in the movie Lost in Translation. Private room, plasma tv, book of songs, a remote control, and more booze. The last time I did this, I was really drunk and made a fool of myself. I am really drunk right now. What do you think happens next?

2:12 AM: Who is that sitting awfully close to Natalie? Is that her ex-boyfriend Mark? Are they back together? “Hey Mark!,” I say. Oops. Its not Mark. This is awkward. Its her co-worker. Who looks exactly like Mark. At least I think he does. Oops. I need more beer.

2:19 AM: Sujeet is talking with that Lisa chick a lot. Did he not see the GIANT WHITE BALD MAN that was with her earlier?

2:27 AM: Did Sujeet and I just sing “I want it that way” by the Backstreet Boys…..FOR THE SECOND TIME IN OUR KARAOKE CAREERS?

2:45 AM: Monica (the crazy girl) and Lisa are taking turns singing Britney Spears songs. Monica is a professional singer. She sings a lot better than we do. “Stop showing off, bitch,” I think to myself. You are RUINING my drunken revelry.

2:59 AM: The hour is finally up. Its time for the last song. We pick “Livin on a Prayer.” I’m praying for the sweet release of death.

3:11AM: My roommates and I are in the cab with Monica the singer. She tells us that Lisa is 34 and posed in Playboy in the late 90s. I swear. Sujeet’s pants need to be washed.

3:15 AM: We get home and immediately try to google this. Searching for “Lisa Playboy” gets us nowhere.

3:48 AM: I finally pass out.

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7:00 AM: My radio alarm turns on.

9:00 AM: My radio alarm turns off (automatically). I am due at work NOW.

(the following was retold to me later)

9:54 AM: Sachin and Sujeet are about to leave for work. Sachin asks if I’m awake. Sujeet replies that he thinks I’m at work already. Sachin decides to check, opens my door and says “Oh fuck….AMISH, wake up its 10:00!”

9:55 AM: I stare at the ceiling and say “What happened?”

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The Cinco de Mayo story ends here. But I wanted to bring up one point. How ironic is it that on the holiest of Mexican holidays, I completely fail to go to Taco Bell?