A while back I wrote a column entitled Tales from the ladies' restroom, which, in summation, indicated that females tend to flock together like birds of the same feather when in the ladies' room. But not too long ago, on a weeknight in Suite’s bathroom, I found myself having to bond a little more than I ever bargained for.

As I eagerly scurried my impatient bladder into the ladies' room, I was greeted by a girl passed out up against the wall. People were just walking by her — no one seemed to know nor notice her. Apparently, I have motherly instincts because I felt inclined to make sure she was OK. I alerted the bathroom attendant, who was busy soaping and drying girls' non-tipping hands, that there was a girl passed out in the back of her bathroom. She hadn’t noticed her come in and was thus unable to provide any clues to the mystery. So we questioned some of the girls coming and going … “She belong to you?” But no one claimed her.

At that point, I found myself wishing there was a lost-and-found for humans that I could drop her off at — because clearly I couldn’t just leave her with a clear conscience. So, I tried to wake her up. I spoke to her, I nudged her, I shouted to her, I shook her … nothing. She just laid limp soaking in a vat of her own vile. As I reached for my phone to call 911, the bathroom attendant came over with some water for her, which I proceeded to splash in her face. That woke her up.

She belligerently begged me not to call 911, swore she was alright but was just really really drunk, and then asked for help to take her outside to get some air. So I went and retrieved some bouncers to help me help the lady lush. As soon as we lifted her up she puked all over herself, with my hair catching the shrapnel. She had pasta for dinner, just in case you wanted to know.

Let’s try that again. The bouncers gave her another lift, which in turn lifted up her skirt – her skirt that was a mere few centimeters below her vagina. She wasn’t wearing underwear either. I pulled down the piece of fabric she was wearing as a skirt as the boys carried her outside to the back side of the Suite patio. I grabbed her purse, along with some towels to help clean her, and the bouncers off.

Once outside she tried to walk on her own, but as soon as the bouncers let her go she stumbled so fast and hard to her right that she hit the wall, and slowly slid down as the bouncers assisted her fall to her ass so that she may plop on the cement gracefully and gently.

At this point, she was conscious but making about as much sense as a ferret on crystal meth. I asked her her name and she replied in a language that wasn’t English, but rather just incomprehensible drunken babble. I asked who she was there with and she looked at me as though that question was beyond her skill level and then proceeded to pass out again.

Meanwhile she attracted a crowd of bouncers and bar staff, who all assumed I was responsible for her, like she was my puppy that kept pissing on their carpet.

“Why don’t you just take her home,” someone asked me.

“Well because I don’t know who she is, let alone where she lives.”

“Oh, you don’t know her?” they asked.

“No, I just found her in the bathroom.”

“Congratulations, finders keepers …"

Let’s just say at that point if I lost her I wouldn’t have weeped.

“You were that kid that always tried to bring home the stray dog from off the street weren’t you?” another bouncer asked me.

That I was … but for some reason I remember having more compassion for the stray animal than I did this stray drunk girl. Both me and my resources were exhausted and though feeling irrational with the wafting smell of her vomit protruding off me, I did what I thought rational — I went through her purse to find her I.D. and phone.

I saw that she had a badge for a nightlife photography company. Knowing the owner and having him saved in my phone, I called him and told him one of his employees was passed out alone at Suite and I didn’t know what to do with her.

“She doesn’t work for us … she got fired months ago because she’d go out and just get really drunk and not take pictures. She just kept her old badge to use to get into clubs without a cover. In fact, can you take it back from her?”

OK, so, on to the next lead …

I went through her recent call log and dialed the most recent calls. I got a lot of voice mails, and a girl that answered to me: “I don’t know what to tell you, leave her there.” It occurred to me that the reason I was stuck babysitting this girl is because she doesn’t have any friends.

The bouncers said they were going to call an ambulance, which perked her up like an alarm had just went off.

“Noooooooo, don’t you … no call ambulance. Mumble mumble mumble. I can drive.” Apparently, this girl was on crack, too.

“We’re not talking about calling you a cab sweety, you need to go to a hospital.

She gave me a disdained look of confused concentration, “F……fffff…uck you.”

No, fuck her. I told the bouncers she was their problem now and they informed me they were going to call an ambulance. So, I went back into her phone and went to the name “Mom” and called and left a message to tell her that she can retrieve her daughter from the hospital. My job was done there.

Cason-Point: don’t drink too much … and know the difference between your friends, and drinking buddies because your drinking buddies will leave you in the bathroom. That, and no good deed goes unpunished, or unpuked on should I say.