Saturday, March 19th, was two days after St. Patty’s day and, in celebration, many dozens of Staten Islanders came out to a small warehouse to party. EPIC PARTY was responsible for this collection of party-goers and was responsible for similar events in the past few months. Organized by Joe, the parties were an attempt to bring something fun and unexpected to Staten Island – a difficult endeavor seeing as how many people, even its locals, associate it with the very opposite notions. Luckily, I was there and was taking in the ecstatic beat of local color with my camera.
I had no idea if I was in the right place. The bus was moving and with no indication of which street was coming or which one was passed, I obsessively checked my phone to see my location on the map. A small group of people got ready to get off. One of them saying “is this the place?” I instinctively followed them, believing that there would be no other reason for them to be in such an abandoned place. I quickly learned that I made it.
I began with making small talk with a few people outside as they smoked their cigarettes. One of those people was Joe, the organizer of the event. I tried my best to get on his good side worrying that we might need to be friendly were something to go awry. I did the same with the bouncer and the young girl tasked with over-looking the kegs of beer – a supposedly unlimited supply that became near impossible to reach once the empty room began to fill and crowds began to form.
The DJ booth was against one end of the warehouse while two tables used for beer-pong were on the other. The warehouse interior was bare. The floor was a cold cement and the walls looked as though they were slowly weathering down. This area is owned by a local wrestling league whose office was in the second floor. The venue’s owner was there with a few girls, chatting and laughing with the door open so that they could see the line of people leading to the bathroom.
The night began slow but quickly became a lively carousel of faces posing for the camera. I did not stop and stay anchored to a single set of friends, I instead chose to bounce from point a to point b to point c in a hunt for moments that would define the night for the people there. I tried to be everywhere so that I wouldn’t miss that moment, the thing that you want to tell your friends about the next day. In most cases, no such significance was ever there to be captured. In a drunken haze everything can seem brilliant.
Though I was not without interesting personalities. A mad look in the eyes and a plastic bat in hand. A vacuous Barbie in lipstick. A piñata filled with regret. And, plenty of cute girls.
It wasn’t far into the night that the police arrived. We awaited some final word from Joe and his megaphone while barricaded inside. Unfortunately, the word came in and the party was over. The crowd that was originally diluted into cliques of social networks started to condense towards the exit. They shuffled out the doors into the cold weather as I stood atop a chair snapping photos of their departure.
Needless to say, this night of debauchery was exciting. I look forward to another visit to the wrestling warehouse. Its cold floor, crumbling walls, loud music, and true Staten Island flavor.
