You never would have imagined that Stranger Things could ruin your life.

The plan was foolproof; give the fans ample time to watch and rewatch Season 3, and read all the articles that contained spoilers, and further endeared the cast to Instagram followers. You’d then invite the afore-mentioned fans to “a pop-up Stranger Things costume party right in Midtown Manhattan” via every goddamn social networking site that your 28-year-old mind could think of.

NETFLIX OBSESSED BY KATHRYN BUCKLEY 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 69

You never would have imagined that Stranger Things, a Netflix favorite, could ruin your life, yet it did, and there was no end in sight. You’re now broke, penniless as they like to say, and you can’t leave your apartment.

Anywho, the sitch was this: Stranger Things Season 3 was released on Independence Day. You assumed your New York City Stranger Things bash nine days later titled Stranger Things Shenanigans would be a huge hit. 

The plan was foolproof; give the fans ample time to watch and rewatch Season 3, and read all the articles that contained spoilers, and further endeared the cast to Instagram followers. You’d then invite the afore-mentioned fans to “a pop-up Stranger Things costume party right in Midtown Manhattan” via every goddamn social networking site that your 28-year-old mind could think of. You knew Stranger Things nerds would be so ecstatic to have someplace other than social media to expend their energy on the subject that was the talk of the town. And, as a whore of a consumer of arts-related stuff, you could easily entice them to attend on a weekend evening in the city that never sleeps. 

So you spent months quietly planning. First you hired the team of young hopefuls that signed confidentiality agreements upon answering your craigslist ad for “a super-secret project” to prevent someone from stealing your idea. You gave each of them “special assignments” they could only brag about following the big reveal, such as order merch for the platinum-packaged deals you organized. You knew if someone would pay a grand for Katy Perry VIP merch that came with a concert ticket and one of those paper bracelets that were so fucking hard to get off of your wrist without cutting it, that Stranger Things could score you at least $400 a pop, if not more. 

Alina, an NYU grad student completely enamored with your idea, volunteered to scour the net and buy the imitation clothing; Hopper’s sexy floral shirt, Eleven’s mall clothes that, following Max’s explanation, felt like her, Scoops Ahoy uniforms, Barb’s ruffled shirt, even though just the thought of Barb might bring some fans to tears, Dustin’s hat and camp shirt, Hopper’s uniform, Eleven’s pink dress and blonde wig, and a slew of other knockoffs of items worn by the cast in three glorious seasons. 

Paul, the slim, blue-eyed singer/songwriter looking to make an extra buck between tours, agreed to order the slogan T-shirts, pillows, wall signs, and coffee mugs, basically anything he could find that mentioned The Upside Down, the Demogorgon, slogans like Friends Don’t Lie, and badass affirmations like I Dump Your Ass, and You Can’t Spell America without Erica. 

Ophelia, a trendy New School Special Events Coordinator on maternity leave, accepted the task of obtaining the raffle items; a tremendous Wonder Wheel replica made by some genius on Etsy who called herself Coney Island, a lifetime supply of the ingredients from the limited-only run Baskin Robbins Demogorgon Sundae donated by your friend Amanda who ran a privately owned supermarket, 485 copies of Ingrid Michaelson’s Stranger Songs album, 46 copies of the Stand By Me script, which was what the Stranger Things cast had to audition with, 16 Farrah Fawcett hairspray bottles to obtain Steve’s look, and a Demogorgon pool float that was ginormous. 

Grub, you thought, made the most sense to assign to Dylan, a doe-eyed culinary major at a Jersey City Community College, and you were right. He sought out a team of professionals to help him make lots of red- and dark-colored jello to emulate the Demogorgon, along with slime materials to spread on the walls to freak attendees out a bit. (He also promised home-made Slurpees, but only cherry to stay on trend, and as many Eggo waffles as he could stuff in the three-plus size freezers you rented.) 

Anthropologist turned DJ, Thomas, promised to play, and replay the Stranger Things theme song, along with Toto’s Africa, Madonna’s Material Girl, Stranger Songs, REO Speedwagon’s Can’t Fight This Feeling, Cutting Crew’s I Just Died in Your Arms, and of course, the gem Neverending Story, to pay homage to Suzie who stole your, and just about everybody’s, hearts. 

Molly Jane, an animated actress for the small screen who auditioned for, and did not get the role of Twila on Schitt’s Creek, put together the Grand VIP, VIP, and Regular Guest Packages for admission just as you assigned her to do, adding a bit of pizzazz by wrapping each gift in Hawkins Post newspaper pages. 

Jerry, a local artist you knew from the East Village, was more than happy to paint images of Sam Goody and Waldenbooks. You’re still pissed that the tightass venue owner insisted no nails could be used for hanging them on the walls. For the love of God, you were paying half of your unused college fund you’d saved for more than a decade to rent out the place for five measly hours, and had to be out of there before midnight. You nearly forgot about said grievance once you received the most dynamite news:

Your ad for Stranger Things Shenanigans went beyond social media and was mentioned by Time Out Fucking New York! You saw such an accolade as a surefire guarantee that your event had “made it” before it even actually happened. If this took off the way it was supposed to, you’d make back your college fund, and then some, securing the reputation of Party Planner of 2019, maybe with a write-up in Rolling Stone depicting you as an up-and-coming socialite who knew how to get a pop culture party started. 

You cried with gratitude as you thanked your team three days in advance. You each drank rosé and sat around your leased West Village apartment that had trees outside, which were seasonally adorned with cherry blossoms. Everyone was tired, but ready. Stranger Things was on your television as background noise. You all wound up watching it instead of talking to each other.