John Smith lives on Staten Island and works in Manhattan, so every evening he has to take the ferryboat back home…
It’s his daily routine – same old ferry, same old ride.
But this particular evening, as John hurries down to the ferry slip, he discovers he’s got time to kill before the next boat arrives…
Not wanting to stand around aimlessly, John figures he’ll stop into a nearby tavern.
“Just one drink,” he tells himself. “Nothing crazy”…
Well, “just one drink” quickly turns into two, and two turns into three.
Before long, John is leaning over the bar like an old shipwreck, smiling at strangers and trying to remember if he already tipped the bartender or just thought about it…
Feeling no pain, he finally decides it’s time to head back to the dock.
When John stumbles out of the tavern and reaches the ferry slip, he sees the boat already moving – it’s about eight feet from the dock…
Panic hits him, “I can’t miss this boat!” he slurs to no one in particular.
So, fueled by questionable judgment and liquid courage, John plants his feet, takes a deep breath, and makes a running leap…
Arms flailing, legs pumping, he launches himself through the air like a drunken superhero and somehow lands – smack – right on the deck of the ferry.
Triumphant, John stands up, brushes off his coat, and grins proudly at a nearby deckhand…
“How’d you like that jump, buddy?” he asks, chest puffed out like he just won Olympic gold.
