— M i a b i . F i l m s

I went as Joe The Plumber this year. A couple days earlier a friend of mine said that it was an un-original costume. Everyone is going to be Joe The Plumber. I defended the attack. Obviously there would be a few people dressed like Wurzelbacher, but I thought it was unique enough. Everyone loves the witty, original costume, but I didn’t care. This was pretty easy. I was making a statement!

The first hurdle was the bald cap. This was the centerpiece of the entire get-up. And no easy task. I wanted it to be good. Even bought spirit gum to help keep it on my head properly. But this was a mighty struggle because I’m currently rocking a nappy-headed ‘fro. Luckily I bought two, because I tore through that first latex dome in minutes. I did not stand in line at Ricky’s for nearly an hour for this to fail. After several variations, I finally got it to look somewhat realistic to the point where I could take off. Grabbed my hoodie, put the hood up, and ran out the door.

I get on the relatively uncrowded early-evening L train and have a seat. At this point a dude sits down right across from me wearing… a Joe The Plumber costume. I say “Hey nice costume!” and he waves his plunger at me. I make a stupid joke that the bald cap isn’t working and I’m thinking about just shaving my head. He looks at me funny. His costume is better.

Right now I’m still just a guy in a T-shirt and jeans wearing a bald cap improperly. Luckily there’s a CVS as I get off the train. I go in to buy a plunger and those name tag stickers that say HELLO MY NAME IS:. The illuuuusion is nearly complete.

After arriving at my first party, I ask the host to help me trim out the ears from my bald cap. I wasn’t able to do this by myself at home. She’s busy doing another girl’s make up so I’m stuck sipping grape Hi-C and vodka with a condom covering my head. She’s finally ready for me and cuts the ears out so it looks and feels a little better.

I stay at the party for another 45 minutes and leave. I’m meeting my two friends who are dressed like John McCain and Sarah Palin in Hoboken. We’re a trio and going to a party at the Irish bar below where Palin used to live. The party is being hosted by her cousin whom I don’t know. I’m somewhat familiar with the bar and know it’s on First Street. Once I get into town, I walk down and reach Mulligans. Seemed like an Irish bar.

Walk up to the bouncer and say, “I’m here for the party – $30 open bar?”
He responds, “Alisha?”
“Yeah, that’s it.” I had no idea.

Hand him my $30, I get stamped and walk in. The bar is nearly empty. I don’t see my friends. They aren’t picking up their phones. So plunger in hand, I walk back outside. Down the street I see a line at another place. It becomes apparent to me that that’s O’Donoghue’s. The bar where the party is taking place. And at the back of the line are my two friends. After I yell at them for not picking up their phones, I have to go back and reason with the kindly bouncer that I’m an idiot and went to the wrong bar. Could I please have my money back?

“I apologize man. I’ll rub out this stamp right now.”
“Yeah, rub it out in front of me.” That came out funny. We both chuckled. Got my money back.

The line for the new place is long. Like 45 minutes long. After a stretch of being impatient and frustrated with my lame, un-original costume, I defiantly tear off the bald cap and throw it in the garbage. It didn’t even make it inside. It never once looked right.

The party is packed with Jersey revelers. One guy is Michael Phelps wearing only a speedo. Since we got a late start and the open bar is only until midnight, we attack the drinks right away. I get drunk pretty fast.

It’s loud and a good time. I love people who get dressed up and think they have to act out the character they are dressed as. Girls who are dressed as sluts get extra slutty. (Halloween is a pervert’s holiday.) The Jokers were acting villainous, causing mayhem. Hulk Hogan was screaming his “Demandments” all night. I asked him if he was going to take on The Ultimate Warrior – who was bartending – Wrestlemania 6 style. The white guy dressed as Mr. T has blackface all over his face. That is funny.

We’re there for about two hours. Fading as the night progressed. At one point we’re sitting at tables in the front and I become fixated with this thing dangling on the wall. It’s just this box literally dangling there. I obliviously begin to fiddle with it and continue with my conversations. I finally look down and sneak a peak. It’s a fire alarm.

I hold it up.
“Hey guys, look at this!”
Five seconds later, the fire alarms go off at the bar.

Uh, was that me? I didn’t pull the fire alarm. People look around confused. My friends are laughing hysterically. Wait, I can’t say that were laughing. Maybe that was anger? People begin to calmly walk outside. It was a coincidence! It had to be. Granted it doesn’t help my case that I was actually handling the fire alarm as the alarms went off. But I am fully confident that I did not pull that alarm.

We shuffle out ourselves and go to some other other Irish bar up the street. I run into some people I haven’t seen in a while and meet some new friends. And that’s where my night ended.