“Don’t judge. Don’t be a hater,” she said to us while pushing her girlfriend’s sagging head up. Her friend was oozing onto the floor with that liquid bone posture only brought about by copious amounts of alcohol. Her dry heaves warned us of an imminent explosion. The first woman held a brown paper bag to the friend’s mouth with one hand while trying to gather her hair in the other. “God, I never have a hairband when I need one. You’re gonna be okay. Just let it out. I’ve got your hair.”

Who am I to judge? I have been too drunk in public on occasion. Just not in a tiny NYC pizza place with only three small tables where everyone can see and hear what you are up to. I hope I’d have had the decorum not to vomit in the restaurant had it been me. Even with the luxury of a paper bag to catch it. We didn’t judge, just made an assessment. Knowing better than to put ourselves in a situation where we would definitely become haters, we walked out without ordering.