The 54th Annual Digglewink Day

I wish I hadn’t eaten that Street Meat. Not for any gastrointestinal reasons. It just wasn’t very tasty. You see, yesterday was my birthday, friends, and frankly I expected a more festive morning  meal. Unfortunately, it wasn’t to be.

I arrived at my office at four yesterday morning, expecting some sort of celebration to already be underway. In my kingdom of Digglewink and Smith, LLP, I thought for certain that at least one floor of our offices in the Empire State Building would have been devoted to my special day – a carnival, a petting zoo, or perhaps a personal appearance by my childhood hero, Lloyd Blankfein. But when I arrived that morning, there was no celebration. No carnival. No zoo. No Lloyd. No love.

So it was that at approximately 5:00 yesterday morning, Peter K. Digglewink took to the bottle. I’m not proud of this. If there is one thing less attractive than a 54-year old man wearing a Superman costume, it is a 54-year old man wearing a Superman costume and downing a bottle of WT2 (my father’s old recipe). I was already slightly buzzed when my coworkers arrived.

Note: It has been a now-half-century-long PD custom to wear a Superman costume on my birthday. This has served me well in the past. On my 10th birthday, my classmates looked at me in awe and treated me – at least for the day – as if I really were a superhero. On my 21st, friends (read: bartenders) cheered me as I pounded a full 2 shots to celebrate before collapsing, caped, into the mid-campus fountain. In recent years, my colleagues’ awe has been more measured. Indeed, once they see me in my costume, they find it hard to even speak in my presence. So intimidated are they that no one dares even approach me, probably for fear that I might whisk them away on a flight around the city. My reception today was similarly cold.

When my legal partner, Ferdy Smith, walked into his office at eight this morning, he found me slouched and less than sober in his ergonomic chair. “Peter!” he exclaimed as he turned on the lights.

“Do you know what today is!?” I shouted.

“Cinco de Mayo?”

“My birthday, Ferdy! It’s my birthday!”

“Well!” my old friend said. “Yes, yes! Happy birthday, Peter!”

“I got here early!” I said, “Expecting a party!”

“A party? Pre-dawn?”

“With a petting zoo!” I shouted, drunk.

“A pett-”

“And Lloyd Blankfein!”

“Huh?”

“And a ferris wheel!”

“In a building?”

I sighed and slumped over Ferdy’s desk. It was no use. Once again, my friends and coworkers had forgotten my special day. The truth is I always wore the costume just so people would remember. In reality, they never did. Indeed, they probably had no idea why I regularly dressed as Superman on Cinco de Mayo each year.

“Come on,” Ferdy said. “No reason to be upset. It’s your birthday!” He approached the desk and slapped me on the cape. He handed me his coffee. “Maybe you should drink some of this,” he said. “It’s a little early in the day for the hard stuff.”

“Thanks.”

“Come on,” Ferdy announced. “Let’s go get you some breakfast.”

A few minutes later, we’d ridden the elevator 86 floors to the street and strode out of the Empire State Building toward the hot dog cart on the corner. “Let me get two dogs!” Ferdy told the vendor. “It’s this gentleman’s birthday today.”

“Well,” the man said with a laugh. “Happy birthday, Superman!”

‘Superman!’ I thought. ‘Someone called me Superman!’ And with that, I was taken back to a more innocent time, of Mr. Waffles, and WT2 on my father’s breath, and a classroom of children celebrating my special day.

“What are you drinking anyway?” Ferdy said.

“Family recipe,” I told him. “Have a nip.”

“To your birthday,” he said and raised the bottle. He took a deep swig – and immediately spat it out all over the street.

“Oh!” he exclaimed. “Peter, what is this?”

“My father’s own blend,” I said, shocked at his reaction. “Wild Turkey and 2% Milk.”

“Ugh!” he shouted. “My goodness! You actually like this stuff? Your father invented this??”

“I know,” I told him. “It’s amazing I turned out as normal as I did.”