Regardless of gender, everyone has to do the walk of shame. Humans need physical interaction. It’s a primal instinct, and that primal instinct just so happens to rear its ugly head when you’re super inebriated. What does that mean? It means the once safe and dark blanket of night lifts its veil after the two of you have achieved coitus, you are thrust out into the cold, cruel, bright world with $20 in your pocket for a cab, still wearing your clothes from last night.
This is your garden variety walk of shame. You weren’t tossed out of someone’s apartment, you have all of your clothes on, and you know exactly where you are. You didn’t black out. You have money for a cab, and you make a phantom-like exit before your sexual liaison has even realized he or she had someone sleepover. Leave a note with your number and name if you enjoyed it. Steal some money out of this person’s wallet for a cab if you didn’t. Your call.
You wake up in a cold sweat. You look to your right and see a lumpy mass of human sleeping next to you. Beer goggles got the best of you last night, and you need to evacuate immediately. Unfortunately, you threw your clothes off like you were the Tasmanian Devil in a fit of lust and passion before sloppily making love to your unnamed partner. You’re reaping what you sow in the morning, because you’ve only managed to find half of your clothes and precious seconds are ticking away before this person wakes up and begs for a morning round on your front nine. The other half is somewhere underneath a pile of this person’s clothes, bedsheets, a duvet, several pairs of underwear that have mysteriously appeared out of nowhere, shoes, a mess of bedskirts and comforters–WHERE DID ALL THESE BLANKETS COME FROM? All you know is that you gotta get out of there before this person wakes up, shoes and underwear be damned. Hit the bricks and hope no one notices.
The Middle Of Nowhere
You don’t remember the ride home. You don’t know where you are. Oh, God. This is it. You’ve been kidnapped. You look out a window and don’t recognize any of your surroundings. You are, indeed, fucked. What to do? Do you pull up Google Maps? Nope. Your phone is either out of battery or you have one bar of 3G coverage. You’re going to have to find a cell phone charger or wake up your one-night stand to figure out how the fuck you’re getting home, which will either result in a $50+ cab ride or an awkward, 30-minute ride home with a total stranger whose dried bodily fluids are currently caked all over your crotch.
Nothing makes a walk of shame quite as enjoyable as bouncing out of a stranger’s house and into your best friend’s car. You have a true friend who will drop what she’s doing and neglect her own hangover to come pick you up. Don’t make a habit out of this, though. You’re just going to make your friend worry about you. You will be greeted with a wry, knowing smile and retort with a simple, “please just get me the hell out of here” look. That’s what friends are for.
This is the moment you’ve trained for. All those years of one-night stands and strange bedfellows are finally going to pay off. You are a hookup ninja and you’re ready to use every resource at your disposal to get yourself out of this rut. You wake up naked. Luckily, you
threw neatly folded your clothes in a pile on the floor and even found yourself a cell phone charger before passing out. You would’ve cabbed it right after coitus, but dammit, your one-night stand’s California king mattress was so friggin’ comfortable. Rookie mistake.
Similar to The Middle Of Nowhere, the Out-Of-Towner thrusts you into unfamiliar surroundings; however, instead of a house out in the boondocks, it’s a Holiday Inn Express in downtown Orlando or an uptown loft. You’ll pray that Uber or Lyft are available in the city. This one is far from over once you get out of the door. You’re going to have to walk through a lobby in last night’s clothes, leading everyone to think you’re a hooker. Good thing you don’t know any of these people.
Kicked To The Curb
So, you hooked up with a real douchebag/bitch. Wham, bam, thanks for playing. Nothing will make you feel more worthless than being tossed out of someone’s apartment right after sex. Especially at 5 a.m. on a Sunday. This person will give you some cookie-cutter, fabricated excuse like, “hey, I have to work early tomorrow,” or, “I’m playing golf with my dad,” or, “my boyfriend is coming home tomorrow.” Bullshit. Whatever happened to manners?
The Stride Of Pride
If you like having sex with people who are way better looking than you are after months of not having sex with anyone, gimme a HELL YEAH! There’s really nothing quite like shattering a long dry spell or outkicking the coverage. Look at you go. You successfully had consensual sex with someone. Your confidence is restored and you are going to walk out of that door feeling like a million bucks, even though your button-down is halfway untucked and you’re missing a shoe. But no one can tell you wrong. You just had sex.