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| 2006 fifth exchange |
This past weekend was the annual TBOX/Santacon/SANTA Monica crawl. It's the big bar crawl where all your white friends start doing cocaine around 9am and wear competing Tipsy Elves sweaters that all cost north of $80.
Old people and hipsters alike loathe this annual bacchanalian adventure. This year, just to troll the aging Brooklyn population and prove that gentrification is complete, the Santacon promoter routed their event straight through the heart of Williamsburg. He then even had the lack of fucks to give an interview that behaved as a long dismissive wank to all of his detractors. Conversely, you may have spent the better part of yesterday reading the TBOX (twelve bars of christmas) police blotter! Yay public intoxication and rape!
'Tis the season.
But while everyone else was having a regrettable hook up with a coworker at a holiday party or trying to convince a slutty elf that having sex in the bathroom of O'Brien's isn't THAT big of a deal; I was dabbling in a different tradition…
The Fifth Exchange.
This year marked my 11th fifth exchange.
Four in college, two in Chicago, five in LA.
Some highlights:
2005: First fifth exchange, someone gets me Mount Gay rum. This is funny because 'gay'
2007: Someone gets me 151, I test the hypothesis that this can be used to breathe fire. It can. I black out and go streaking through the Jewish sorority after serenading them with the Dreidel song.
2008: I get 151 again. But Jake gets Rumplemintz and Paul gets Gold Schlager. Assemble Team See Ya. I get very drunk and nap from 12am-3am. I have a 5am flight to Chicago (from Indianapolis) I get pulled over for erratic driving on the way to the airport. I tell the officer about my early morning flight for a final round interview at CH Robinson. He wishes me luck and offers me a police escort the rest of the way to the airport. I polite decline. While I didn't get a DUI, I also didn't get the job.
2010: Last fifth exchange in Chicago. I pass out in a pile of bushes in mid December after drinking a fifth of Snow Queen vodka. I don't die.
2013: Smolen's last fifth exchange in LA. Someone gets me Mount Gay rum. This is still funny because 'gay'
This year marked the fifth annual west coast fifth exchange. With half of my friends flown to Miami for a fucking Deadmau5 concert, the onus came down to me to host.
For the uninitiated, the fifth exchange is a secret santa that we used to do at my fraternity in college. I have migrated it to every city I have lived post college and the group has grown from only IU phi psis, to only IU people, to whoever wants to come. The 'ceremony' is pretty simple. Everyone brings a fifth of alcohol (that costs under 30 bucks) wrapped and puts it under the tree addressed to a person from Santa. At 8 o'clock someone shouts "GUYS SANTA CAME!" and we run down the stairs to rip open our presents.
We're almost 30.
Alas, this year's fifth exchange went off without a hitch, but that wasn't always the case. Toss another log on the fire and allow me to share with you the story of the 2011 fifth exchange.
(I'm going to change names to protect the innocent)
It was December of 2011, I had recently moved to Los Angeles and I had exactly five friends. I was living on a mattress pad in an upstairs room of a ten bedroom castle in Encino. Among my roommates were: two Russian lesbians (married) a french couple that spoke no English, and a Pakistani commercial actor. There were other people that came and went, I was never quite sure who lived there. I stayed in my room most of the time watching old BBC shows on Hulu and crying about my ex girlfriend. Some nights someone would knock on my door an ask if I wanted to drink whisky by the pool, but most of the time I was ignored.
I was semi-employed at the time, but it had become very evident that my specific job function was on its way out and it was a matter of time before I was unemployed and alone in Los Angeles, I was ready to give up on my dream before even giving it a chance…but then one wintry morning I got a text message from my friend Ron.
"Guys I'm house sitting my boss's place in Marina Del Rey this weekend. It's super sick and I think we can throw a party."
Previously to moving into the compound off of Mulholland I had been living on Ron's couch, but I had LONG overstayed my welcome, so I was just happy to be invited to do something.
"What if we had fifth exchange there?" Responded Derek, one of Ron's roommates.
"Can I smoke cigarettes and have sex in your boss's bed?" asked Brody.
"No but you can cuddle with his dog." Ron relents.
"In." - Derek
"In." - Brody
"Fuck ya." - Mack
"Yay!" - Me
"Duh." - Ken
The stage was set, we were going to all move into this one bedroom, one bathroom apartment in Marina Del Rey for the weekend and the 6 of us were going to throw ourselves a fifth exchange/Christmas Party. I was stoked.
The morning of December 10th we move into the apartment. The place is magical, located on the third floor of one of Marina Del Rey's sprawling resorts, complete with pools, hot tubs, picnic areas and ocean views. The apartment is decorated to look like the Williams Sonoma winter catalogue. The puppy is even wearing reindeer antlers.
We decide to make the brief jaunt to Venice Beach to watch a morning basketball game at a quaint bar called Nikki's. It would be my first visit to Venice since I had moved to Los Angeles in September, little did I know that this would soon be my home and my bar (or that it would be rudely taken from me years later by the evil corporation Snap Chat.)
We were the only 6 people at the bar watching an unranked Indiana team play against number one Kentucky. Indiana led most of the game before choking away the lead late. Then with only a few seconds left, this happened.
The day was off to a good start.
It's hard to remember the rest of the afternoon. I know at some point we joined up with a Christmas themed bar crawl at Canal Club and somehow we all acquired shitty Christmas sweaters and bottles of booze.
Cut to, 8pm. We are all back at the MDR apartment and halfway in the bag. Derek has invited 2 of his actor buddies to join us, bringing our grand total to 8. We place the gifts under the tree and someone's girlfriend yells out "Hey guys, Santa came!" We sprint down the stairs and rip open our gifts.
I shit you not, 8 bottles of Jack Daniel's Tennessee Honey (remember that shit?) anyway, it was really big in the winter of 2011. This is relevant though because of how easy it was to drink.*
*People forget that there was a very real time between the death of Jagermeister and the rise of Fireball that Jack honey was all the rage. It felt classy because it was a 'premium whisey' but also went down like water, often with disastrous results.
Per tradition, once the presents were unwrapped females were invited over. Given our lack of popularity at the time, I think four showed up, plus one girlfriend that was already there, thus bringing our total to 13. Thirteen people and 8 bottles of Jack honey in a one bedroom apartment is a good time. However, given that we were all still in our early twenties and in peak drinking shape, we were out of booze by 10.
Simple fix, one mile away from our present location was the infamous Venice bar 'The Whaler.' The Marina Del Rey boat parade fireworks were in full swing, the streets were lined with people wandering around in Santa hats, drinking egg nog out of thermoses, it would be great.
We file out of the 3rd floor apartment and see a sign pointing toward the end of the hallway for the stairs, but with a bank of elevators right in front of us, we decided to be lazy.
The elevator is small and 12 people is a tight fit. There is a sticker that clearly states an 8 person max, but we're all drunk and do not care. Plus we are skinny.
Some sort of alarm goes off, but the door eventually closes and we all remark on how cramped we are in the elevator. Had we just casually stood quietly in the elevator for the next 15 seconds, everything would have probably been fine. But of course that is not what happened…
"What if we all jumped at the same time?" - Ken
"Don't do that." - Ron
"Let's try it." - Drunk girl 1
"Wait I want out, I'm taking the stairs." - Ron
"Three…two…" - Ken
"Guys seriously, don't." - Ron
"One." - Ken.
Ten people jump in the air in a tiny elevator at the Mariner's Village apartments and a wrenching crack sounds permeates through the shaft. The elevator grinds to a halt.
"God dammit." - Ron
"Sorry." - Ken
The first two minutes or so are the blame game. Half the people calling Ken a fucking idiot and the other half trying to wrench the doors open to improve the situation.
But in a cramped broken elevator with extreme intoxication, anger quickly turns to panic.
It was minute five when the first girl uttered. "I have to pee."
The first tears were shed at minute eight.
At minute 10 we realized no one had cell phone service and the 'call rescue' button was (maybe) broken.
Totally fucked.
Throughout the first ten minutes Ron stayed relatively calm. As this was his boss's place and he was house sitting we deferred to him to be the person in charge. He also seemed to be the most sober, Ron would get us through this.
"Ok first of all, everyone relax. I've been stuck in an elevator before. The 'call' button isn't lighting up because the light is burnt out. Authorities are probably already on the way. Also this is a massive resort with 24 hour security. There is a man in a command center that sees this elevator is fucked. It will only be a matter of minutes before we are rescued." - Ron
"I can't hold it much longer." - Drunk Girl #1
"We will use the southwest corner as the pee corner." - Ron
"I kinda need to take a shit, which corner is the shit corner." - Brody
"There is no shit corner Brody, hold it." - Ron
For the first 45 minutes, everyone is convinced that Ron is right. Of course luxury apartment complexes have 24 hour security. The Fire Department is just stuck in traffic.
At one hour trapped, Derek began to voice concern.
"I think we need to start yelling for help." - Derek
"That's a bad idea, it will wake up the neighbors and then they will rat me out to my boss and I will get fired." - Ron
"There is a fireworks show going on, no one is sleeping. No one is going to be mad at you for being stuck in an elevator." - Derek
"What if there is a camera in here? And they seen Ken breaking the elevator! And then we are on the hook for paying for this fucking elevator" - Ron
"Guys, Ron is the host, let's listen to him." - Mack
At the moment drunk girl one breaks and pees in the southwest corner. Four people in the elevator are now crying.
"I'll give you 15 minutes." - Derek
At 90 minutes trapped...
"Maybe Derek is right, a lot of people are out and about, I bet they would hear us yelling." - Brody
"And then what will they do when they find our urine soaked elevator?" - Ron
"I dunno, rescue us?" Mack
"What is this, a mutiny? Mack??" - Ron
"Sorry Ron, I'm on team Derek now." - Mack
"Ron, I relieve you of your command. Ken, please take him into custody." - Derek
With that, Ken physically restrains Ron and everyone in the elevator screams bloody murder for rescue.
It was unsuccessful.
At two hours trapped people are starting to lose their shit.
"We're going to die in here." - Mack
"At least be trapped until morning." Ken
"This is all your fault Ken." - Ron
"If we would have started screaming earlier maybe people would have heard us." - Ken
"I REALLY have to take a shit."
Derek's two actor buddies and most of the girls are all huddled in the corner furthest from the pee and kinda half sleeping, half crying like you see a lot of the survivors of a disaster do in the immediate aftermath.
Brody, who has been staring at the doors for a while without talking finally decides to take action. He grasps the interior elevator doors and pulls with all his might to wedge them open. They won't budge.
"Come on guys, help me out."
Mack and Derek help pull, Ken joins in and finally they are able to pry open the door about three inches.
"Someone needs to stick their hand into the elevator shaft with their phone and see if they can get service." - Brody
"No fucking way man, that is some Final Destination shit waiting to happen." - Ken
"I can't fit my hands…" - Derek
"I can…" -Mack
Mack dials 911 and turns on his speaker. He presses dial and then juts his arm into the cavernous shaft.
The phone rings….and rings…
"What the fuck, is it going to go to voicemail?" - Derek
rings…rings….finally, '911, what is your emergency.'
Everyone screams at once. "HEEEEEEEEEELPPPPPPPP"
"Excuse me?"
SHUT THE FUCK UP GUYS.
"We are stuck in an elevator at 4600 via Marina, please we need immediate assistance…"
BEEP BEEP BEEP.
The call drops, Mack looks at his phone. It powers down, dead. No one else can get service, we wait to see if our distress call will be answered.
Three hours trapped…
We have given up at this point. Resigned to our fate. Then a hydraulic noise from behind us breaks the silence. The exterior doors in the shaft jolt open.
"Anyone down there?"
A firefighter is staring down at us.
"I'm going to get you guys out of there ok?"
The LAFD uses the jaws of life to wedge open two sets of doors and pull us from the carnage. Women first and then the men. As the last of our crew climbs out the fireman wrinkles his nose, 'what happened in there?'
Alliances were formed, backs were stabbed. In a word, betrayal.
"You don't want to know man."
A large group of residents had gathered to watch the rescue, all in all a 40 person standing ovation turned to nervous concern when they saw the state of the passengers file back into Ron's boss's apartment.
The door swung open.
"How was the bar guys?" I ask.
No one answers me.
Ah yes, I forgot to mention. I never made it into the elevator, I slept through the whole thing on the couch, I decided I was too drunk to go out. Perhaps the best decision I've ever made in my life.
***
Epilogue…
A faulty sensor in the elevator had to be replaced. The jump had triggered an oversensitive earthquake detector that shuts down an elevator to protect people that could be inside. It was replaced for two dollars.
Ron didn't get fired.
Two months later Ron, Ken, Mack and I moved to Venice which we would make our permanent Los Angeles home.
I never saw drunk girl 1 again. Some things I guess you just can't come back from.
That said we would rally for another fifth exchange in 2012 and it continues to get better each and every year, but we don't really take elevators anymore.
Happy Holidays everyone.
This year marked my 11th fifth exchange.
Four in college, two in Chicago, five in LA.
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| 2008 fifth exchange |
Some highlights:
2005: First fifth exchange, someone gets me Mount Gay rum. This is funny because 'gay'
2007: Someone gets me 151, I test the hypothesis that this can be used to breathe fire. It can. I black out and go streaking through the Jewish sorority after serenading them with the Dreidel song.
2008: I get 151 again. But Jake gets Rumplemintz and Paul gets Gold Schlager. Assemble Team See Ya. I get very drunk and nap from 12am-3am. I have a 5am flight to Chicago (from Indianapolis) I get pulled over for erratic driving on the way to the airport. I tell the officer about my early morning flight for a final round interview at CH Robinson. He wishes me luck and offers me a police escort the rest of the way to the airport. I polite decline. While I didn't get a DUI, I also didn't get the job.
2010: Last fifth exchange in Chicago. I pass out in a pile of bushes in mid December after drinking a fifth of Snow Queen vodka. I don't die.
2013: Smolen's last fifth exchange in LA. Someone gets me Mount Gay rum. This is still funny because 'gay'
This year marked the fifth annual west coast fifth exchange. With half of my friends flown to Miami for a fucking Deadmau5 concert, the onus came down to me to host.
For the uninitiated, the fifth exchange is a secret santa that we used to do at my fraternity in college. I have migrated it to every city I have lived post college and the group has grown from only IU phi psis, to only IU people, to whoever wants to come. The 'ceremony' is pretty simple. Everyone brings a fifth of alcohol (that costs under 30 bucks) wrapped and puts it under the tree addressed to a person from Santa. At 8 o'clock someone shouts "GUYS SANTA CAME!" and we run down the stairs to rip open our presents.
We're almost 30.
 |
| 2013 fifth exchange |
Alas, this year's fifth exchange went off without a hitch, but that wasn't always the case. Toss another log on the fire and allow me to share with you the story of the 2011 fifth exchange.
(I'm going to change names to protect the innocent)
It was December of 2011, I had recently moved to Los Angeles and I had exactly five friends. I was living on a mattress pad in an upstairs room of a ten bedroom castle in Encino. Among my roommates were: two Russian lesbians (married) a french couple that spoke no English, and a Pakistani commercial actor. There were other people that came and went, I was never quite sure who lived there. I stayed in my room most of the time watching old BBC shows on Hulu and crying about my ex girlfriend. Some nights someone would knock on my door an ask if I wanted to drink whisky by the pool, but most of the time I was ignored.
I was semi-employed at the time, but it had become very evident that my specific job function was on its way out and it was a matter of time before I was unemployed and alone in Los Angeles, I was ready to give up on my dream before even giving it a chance…but then one wintry morning I got a text message from my friend Ron.
"Guys I'm house sitting my boss's place in Marina Del Rey this weekend. It's super sick and I think we can throw a party."
Previously to moving into the compound off of Mulholland I had been living on Ron's couch, but I had LONG overstayed my welcome, so I was just happy to be invited to do something.
"What if we had fifth exchange there?" Responded Derek, one of Ron's roommates.
"Can I smoke cigarettes and have sex in your boss's bed?" asked Brody.
"No but you can cuddle with his dog." Ron relents.
"In." - Derek
"In." - Brody
"Fuck ya." - Mack
"Yay!" - Me
"Duh." - Ken
The stage was set, we were going to all move into this one bedroom, one bathroom apartment in Marina Del Rey for the weekend and the 6 of us were going to throw ourselves a fifth exchange/Christmas Party. I was stoked.
The morning of December 10th we move into the apartment. The place is magical, located on the third floor of one of Marina Del Rey's sprawling resorts, complete with pools, hot tubs, picnic areas and ocean views. The apartment is decorated to look like the Williams Sonoma winter catalogue. The puppy is even wearing reindeer antlers.
We decide to make the brief jaunt to Venice Beach to watch a morning basketball game at a quaint bar called Nikki's. It would be my first visit to Venice since I had moved to Los Angeles in September, little did I know that this would soon be my home and my bar (or that it would be rudely taken from me years later by the evil corporation Snap Chat.)
We were the only 6 people at the bar watching an unranked Indiana team play against number one Kentucky. Indiana led most of the game before choking away the lead late. Then with only a few seconds left, this happened.
The day was off to a good start.
It's hard to remember the rest of the afternoon. I know at some point we joined up with a Christmas themed bar crawl at Canal Club and somehow we all acquired shitty Christmas sweaters and bottles of booze.
 |
| The most dangerous cocktail on the planet. |
Cut to, 8pm. We are all back at the MDR apartment and halfway in the bag. Derek has invited 2 of his actor buddies to join us, bringing our grand total to 8. We place the gifts under the tree and someone's girlfriend yells out "Hey guys, Santa came!" We sprint down the stairs and rip open our gifts.
I shit you not, 8 bottles of Jack Daniel's Tennessee Honey (remember that shit?) anyway, it was really big in the winter of 2011. This is relevant though because of how easy it was to drink.*
*People forget that there was a very real time between the death of Jagermeister and the rise of Fireball that Jack honey was all the rage. It felt classy because it was a 'premium whisey' but also went down like water, often with disastrous results.
Per tradition, once the presents were unwrapped females were invited over. Given our lack of popularity at the time, I think four showed up, plus one girlfriend that was already there, thus bringing our total to 13. Thirteen people and 8 bottles of Jack honey in a one bedroom apartment is a good time. However, given that we were all still in our early twenties and in peak drinking shape, we were out of booze by 10.
Simple fix, one mile away from our present location was the infamous Venice bar 'The Whaler.' The Marina Del Rey boat parade fireworks were in full swing, the streets were lined with people wandering around in Santa hats, drinking egg nog out of thermoses, it would be great.
We file out of the 3rd floor apartment and see a sign pointing toward the end of the hallway for the stairs, but with a bank of elevators right in front of us, we decided to be lazy.
The elevator is small and 12 people is a tight fit. There is a sticker that clearly states an 8 person max, but we're all drunk and do not care. Plus we are skinny.
Some sort of alarm goes off, but the door eventually closes and we all remark on how cramped we are in the elevator. Had we just casually stood quietly in the elevator for the next 15 seconds, everything would have probably been fine. But of course that is not what happened…
"What if we all jumped at the same time?" - Ken
"Don't do that." - Ron
"Let's try it." - Drunk girl 1
"Wait I want out, I'm taking the stairs." - Ron
"Three…two…" - Ken
"Guys seriously, don't." - Ron
"One." - Ken.
Ten people jump in the air in a tiny elevator at the Mariner's Village apartments and a wrenching crack sounds permeates through the shaft. The elevator grinds to a halt.
"God dammit." - Ron
"Sorry." - Ken
The first two minutes or so are the blame game. Half the people calling Ken a fucking idiot and the other half trying to wrench the doors open to improve the situation.
But in a cramped broken elevator with extreme intoxication, anger quickly turns to panic.
It was minute five when the first girl uttered. "I have to pee."
The first tears were shed at minute eight.
At minute 10 we realized no one had cell phone service and the 'call rescue' button was (maybe) broken.
Totally fucked.
Throughout the first ten minutes Ron stayed relatively calm. As this was his boss's place and he was house sitting we deferred to him to be the person in charge. He also seemed to be the most sober, Ron would get us through this.
"Ok first of all, everyone relax. I've been stuck in an elevator before. The 'call' button isn't lighting up because the light is burnt out. Authorities are probably already on the way. Also this is a massive resort with 24 hour security. There is a man in a command center that sees this elevator is fucked. It will only be a matter of minutes before we are rescued." - Ron
"I can't hold it much longer." - Drunk Girl #1
"We will use the southwest corner as the pee corner." - Ron
"I kinda need to take a shit, which corner is the shit corner." - Brody
"There is no shit corner Brody, hold it." - Ron
For the first 45 minutes, everyone is convinced that Ron is right. Of course luxury apartment complexes have 24 hour security. The Fire Department is just stuck in traffic.
At one hour trapped, Derek began to voice concern.
"I think we need to start yelling for help." - Derek
"That's a bad idea, it will wake up the neighbors and then they will rat me out to my boss and I will get fired." - Ron
"There is a fireworks show going on, no one is sleeping. No one is going to be mad at you for being stuck in an elevator." - Derek
"What if there is a camera in here? And they seen Ken breaking the elevator! And then we are on the hook for paying for this fucking elevator" - Ron
"Guys, Ron is the host, let's listen to him." - Mack
At the moment drunk girl one breaks and pees in the southwest corner. Four people in the elevator are now crying.
"I'll give you 15 minutes." - Derek
At 90 minutes trapped...
"Maybe Derek is right, a lot of people are out and about, I bet they would hear us yelling." - Brody
"And then what will they do when they find our urine soaked elevator?" - Ron
"I dunno, rescue us?" Mack
"What is this, a mutiny? Mack??" - Ron
"Sorry Ron, I'm on team Derek now." - Mack
"Ron, I relieve you of your command. Ken, please take him into custody." - Derek
With that, Ken physically restrains Ron and everyone in the elevator screams bloody murder for rescue.
It was unsuccessful.
At two hours trapped people are starting to lose their shit.
"We're going to die in here." - Mack
"At least be trapped until morning." Ken
"This is all your fault Ken." - Ron
"If we would have started screaming earlier maybe people would have heard us." - Ken
"I REALLY have to take a shit."
Derek's two actor buddies and most of the girls are all huddled in the corner furthest from the pee and kinda half sleeping, half crying like you see a lot of the survivors of a disaster do in the immediate aftermath.
Brody, who has been staring at the doors for a while without talking finally decides to take action. He grasps the interior elevator doors and pulls with all his might to wedge them open. They won't budge.
"Come on guys, help me out."
Mack and Derek help pull, Ken joins in and finally they are able to pry open the door about three inches.
"Someone needs to stick their hand into the elevator shaft with their phone and see if they can get service." - Brody
"No fucking way man, that is some Final Destination shit waiting to happen." - Ken
"I can't fit my hands…" - Derek
"I can…" -Mack
Mack dials 911 and turns on his speaker. He presses dial and then juts his arm into the cavernous shaft.
The phone rings….and rings…
"What the fuck, is it going to go to voicemail?" - Derek
rings…rings….finally, '911, what is your emergency.'
Everyone screams at once. "HEEEEEEEEEELPPPPPPPP"
"Excuse me?"
SHUT THE FUCK UP GUYS.
"We are stuck in an elevator at 4600 via Marina, please we need immediate assistance…"
BEEP BEEP BEEP.
The call drops, Mack looks at his phone. It powers down, dead. No one else can get service, we wait to see if our distress call will be answered.
Three hours trapped…
We have given up at this point. Resigned to our fate. Then a hydraulic noise from behind us breaks the silence. The exterior doors in the shaft jolt open.
"Anyone down there?"
A firefighter is staring down at us.
"I'm going to get you guys out of there ok?"
The LAFD uses the jaws of life to wedge open two sets of doors and pull us from the carnage. Women first and then the men. As the last of our crew climbs out the fireman wrinkles his nose, 'what happened in there?'
Alliances were formed, backs were stabbed. In a word, betrayal.
"You don't want to know man."
A large group of residents had gathered to watch the rescue, all in all a 40 person standing ovation turned to nervous concern when they saw the state of the passengers file back into Ron's boss's apartment.
The door swung open.
"How was the bar guys?" I ask.
No one answers me.
Ah yes, I forgot to mention. I never made it into the elevator, I slept through the whole thing on the couch, I decided I was too drunk to go out. Perhaps the best decision I've ever made in my life.
***
Epilogue…
A faulty sensor in the elevator had to be replaced. The jump had triggered an oversensitive earthquake detector that shuts down an elevator to protect people that could be inside. It was replaced for two dollars.
Ron didn't get fired.
Two months later Ron, Ken, Mack and I moved to Venice which we would make our permanent Los Angeles home.
I never saw drunk girl 1 again. Some things I guess you just can't come back from.
That said we would rally for another fifth exchange in 2012 and it continues to get better each and every year, but we don't really take elevators anymore.
Happy Holidays everyone.
 |
| 2015 fifth exchange |
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