It’s 2:00am. The bar just did last call and turned up the ugly lights. To a drunk person, those lights only mean one thing, get me the FUCK out of here before I lose my buzz. You grab whatever people are left standing in your group, and stumble out to the street.
Everyone is hassling strangers for a smoke or a light. Since the only place left open to continue the debauchery is the casino and your roommate’s girlfriend, Buzzkill Betty, read the Riot Act to her man if he sets foot in there again after last week’s debacle, you decide to hail a cab, head home and have after hours. Almost everyone is accounted for, then you realize two of the girls are missing. You peer down the alleyway, and spot them squatting, peeing, laughing, nearly falling into puddles of their own urine. They walk towards you, using one another for support and rejoin the group. The quintessential creep of the crew is playing grab-ass with a girl you’ve never seen before. She’s a thick broad, even by beer goggle standards.
After calling multiple cab companies that hang up on you because you can’t form a proper sentence, one of the alley girls manages to hail down a van-cab, big enough to fit all your drunk asses. The sleaze and his rando climb in first, followed by the alley girls—who without shame give all passerby’s full on shots of their lady bits—and lastly the remainder of the group struggles to make it into the van and connect ass with seat. This process has taken five minutes, and the meter is already looking a little steep. The driver says nothing, but you can see it in his cold, dead, resentful eyes. Even before he puts it into drive you know. He hates you.
- You change the drop-off location at least two times during the drive home—one of those addresses is a Taco Bell, but he knows your game and doesn’t care if you would consider trading your future first-born for a Cheesy Gordita Crunch, he remains en route to the original drop-off location.
- He has to pull over so the blacked out chick in the stripper heels can boot on the side of the freeway. Three times.
- The guy sitting shotgun is trying to make what he thinks is friendly conversation, meanwhile the driver is getting closer and closer to driving the car off the nearest bridge.
- The sleazy bro and his rando, thunder thighs, are horizontal in the backseat, dry humping like a couple of hormonal eighth graders.
- Someone lights up a cig, completely ignoring the “NO SMOKING” sign, then cracks a window thinking the driver won’t notice.
- When the driver tries to take you the long way, you call him out on it. “NO MAN go left here, it’s way faster,” foiling his plan to rack up the meter.
- Someone requests the radio turned to “party music” then spins the volume dial full blast when “Call Me Maybe” comes on. Everyone proceeds to sing the words. Correction, scream the words.
- The girls are blinding him, using the triple flash app to snap selfies in the dark of night.
- Every bump he hits, everyone screams, “WOOOAAHH” And THAT drunk guy makes comments like “Take it easy tiger!” or “ Damn guy drives like an animal!”
- It takes longer to collect the cash to pay the driver at the end of the ride than the ride itself.