That Friday feeling was better than normal a few weeks back. My class was cancelled, and I got to leave work an hour earlier than I usually do.
It felt like an eternity, but it was finally 3 p.m., and I left the office ready to go home and crack a beer.
It was Friday, so the sooner I could start, the better.
I realized the 50 degree weather, which is a Plattsburgh heat wave, was going to draw a crowd to my house.
I get there, and a group of my fraternity brothers was already on the porch. I grabbed my case of shitty beer and joined them. Fast forward a few hours, and the majority of that case of beer was depleted.
Everything seemed to be going well.
They were throwing back the rest of their drinks and getting ready to head downtown. We walked into Five1Eight and headed straight for the bar.
“Two doubles?” the bartender asked.
Apparently the bartender knows us pretty well. So, we performed our usual routine: Grab our drinks and wait for the bar to pack out.
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At this point, we were quite drunk, but not too bad to where we were incoherent. A couple of us started to mingle and pair off.
It was only 12:30 a.m., so there was still time to do a little sweet talking.
Two women we met the previous weekend had come up to us to start talking and dancing with us, so he and I abode. I looked at my friend, and he gave me that “tonight is the night we get laid” look.
That woman and I continue to dance and whatnot, so when the next song ended, we went over to the bar and grab a couple more drinks. The vodka 7s were starting to add up.
I wasn’t really sure how much more I could drink until I was going to start making a fool of myself. But at the time, I didn’t really care.
I handed my friend a drink and we continued to binge. Things started to become fuzzy, but I was still with this stranger from the previous weekend. I looked into my cup, and I had already finished another drink. I went back and grab round three, knowing that’d be the knockout punch.
But everything had been going so well, so I continued to go with the flow. I took one sip of number three, and that’s basically the last thing I remember.
Next thing I knew, I was in my bed. I scanned the room and there was my best friend passed out on my couch.
Time to wake him up and find out how the night ended. Too bad neither of us could fill in the blanks.
“What the hell happened last night?” he asked me.
“I was just going to ask you the same thing,” I uttered back. “I really thought we were getting laid last night.”
He looked at me with a puzzled look. “What on earth are you talking about?” he asked.
I laughed and asked him if he remembered the people we were dancing with at the bar. Apparently, he had zero recollection of even making it to the bars in the first place.
“We really need to stop fucking drinking,” he said to me.
Some would think we would learn our lesson after having such a promising night end from our own stupidity of drinking too much, but that never seems to be the case.
“Fuck it. Want to start drinking?” I asked him. “Yeah, we might as well,” he replies.
And so our misfortune continues.
Email David Andrews at firstname.lastname@example.org