Housesitting Nightmares, Crazy Teachers, And The Masters: The Worst Stories From This Weekend

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New York, I love you, but you brought me down. Chewed me up, spit me out, and caused me to go to bed at 8 p.m. last night in a last-ditch attempt to get enough sleep that I wouldn’t want to kill myself all day Monday. Some way, somehow, it worked.

I’m not sure if it was a combination of the large ice water I was drinking and the more-comfortable-than-everything-I-own Outdoor Voices uniform I had on, but I nestled in and watched four straight episodes of Breaking Bad before passing out. Here I am — spry, somewhat aware, maybe a little groggy from drinking from Thursday to Sunday at 2:30 a.m.

As always, we break some of the following stories down on Touching Base (subscribe on iTunes and SoundCloud). All the episodes can be found below. Proceed with caution.

Alright, let’s get into this week’s crop of stories which can be found unedited in quotes below.

Hey Will,

I gotta say, this column 100% helps me survive the work week. You’re a goddamn hero.

I’ve been sitting on a story for a while that I just recently decided I could send in after a solid 6-7 months of residual scaries. Also, I’m not sure who ended up with the worst scaries, me or my lady friend for the evening (I’ll let you decide). Sorry it’s a long one. Let’s get into it:

Last year a married couple im close friends with asked me to house-sit for them for a week while they took a an end of summer vacation. They had recently bought the house and I think they were nervous about being away from it for the first extended period of time, so I happily obliged. They set up the guest room for me, all of us agreeing that it would be kind of weird for me to sleep in their marital bed. Totally cool. I moved in that Sunday and was looking forward to a week of living alone in a big house (I live in a tiny apartment with a roommate).

Anyways, fast forward to Thursday of that week. That morning, a buddy of mine texts me that he and his friends have an extra club-level ticket that night to go see my beloved Nats that included free food and booze. Definitely couldn’t pass up the free tickets/drinks/food and figured it was a slow enough work week to deal with the Friday hangover that was likely to ensue (boy was I wrong), so I decided to tag along. We met up at a bar near the stadium to grab a few drinks before the game (yes, pregaming the free booze at the game was a bad start) where we each put down a few double IPAs (making the bad start even worse).

Game was great, many drinks were had, and we decided in our fast-approaching brown out to keep drinking after the game at the same bar we pregamed at. We get back to the bar and a woman in her mid 30s (I’m in my late 20s) starts to aggressively hit on me. She made it very clear very quickly that she was down for some mid week strange and I was drunk enough at that point to not think twice about it.

We quickly hop an Uber and go back to the house I’m house sitting at. For some reason drunk me decided to tell her it’s my house which obviously means sleeping in the master bedroom (you know, the one I wasnt supposed to use).

Me and my new lady friend (let’s call her “Heather”) proceed to have weird, drunken sex in my friends’ pristine bed with nice white sheets and duvet cover. Turns out, Heather is a squirter. Not great for the marital bed, but I just pull all the bedding off and throw it on the floor. Could be worse. However, for some reason this triggers Heather and she starts sobbing, telling me all about her recent divorce and how she will never find love again. She’s inconsolable. As I’m trying to calm her down, the combination of hysterical crying and alcohol quickly gave Heather the urge to puke. Before I could direct her in the right direction, she jumps up, opens the door to what she assumed was the bathroom which actually turned out to be my friends’ closet, where she proceeded to unload whatever red drank she had consumed that night all over my friends stuff, including the white bedding I had thrown on the floor near the closet.

I somehow manage to get her into the bathroom to finish puking, assess the damage she’s done, and attempt to clean up some of it in my drunken state. After a few minutes I decided that the mess was sober me’s problem so I just go to bed and leave it for the morning while Heather sleeps it off in the bathroom.

The next day, I awake to a disheveled, probably-still-drunk Heather scrambling to find her stuff amidst the mess we created the night before. Apparently this girl is a special ed teacher at a local elementary school and sleeping in the bathroom caused her to miss her alarm, meaning she WENT STRAIGHT TO WORK surely smelling of sex, booze, and puke.

Needless to say, I did not talk to Heather again and spent the remaining days of my house sitting job painstakingly scrubbing the master bedroom and sending half of their clothing in for dry cleaning. I think I’m safe now, but the scaries that stemmed from the fear that I somehow missed a spot or that my friends would somehow figure out what transpired in their bedroom were very rough. Then again, maybe not as rough as the scaries Heather felt teaching her special ed second graders in her Nats jersey of shame that day.

Moral of the story- don’t sleep in your friends’ marital bed.

Well, here we are sitting at our desks on a Monday morning reading about how an elemantary school teacher squirted all over someone’s bed. I apologize to everyone who spit coffee all over their keyboards upon reading that story.

Hey Will,

Huge fan. We actually spoke about month ago when you helped me find a pizza place in Chicago when I was on leave from the army. Anyway, have a story for you.

Sunday scaries are one thing, but try having Saturday scaries. See, I’m in the Israeli army and our work week goes from Sunday-Thursday so I don’t even have the luxury of Sunday scaries. I digress…

My unit was sent to Gaza 2 weeks ago and when we finally got a 4-day vacation last week, obviously we tied one on. Thankfully, my unit has a few Americans in it, so we like to show these Israelis how we do it in the States. After a solid 14 hours of beers that have never tasted so good (but seriously we don’t have any American beers here and I’m craving some so if you can hook it up, maybe PGP can be the official beer sponsor of the IDF), we head to Tel Aviv, which deserves to be up there with other party capitals of the world. My roommate, lets call him Adam, also happens to be the sniper who covers me (I’m a machine gunner), was really feeling it. We hit a beer garden, a whiskey museum, and an American-style bar. He was beyond gone at this point. He decides we should go to a brothel on the beach.

See, in Israel, hookers are legal and regulated, so that was less of a wild-card call than you would think, but still, wasn’t expected. Me, I’m down for whatever, and I can’t even see straight at this point so I figure why not…(hindsight, horrible decision).

I’m in the room, doing my thing with a woman of the night (apparently I tried convincing her that she should let me violate rule number 1 and go down on her) when I hear a horrible shrieking. This wasn’t a noise a human should make. Then I hear cursing in Hebrew, Arabic, and Russian. I hear my roommates voice trying to explain something in broken Hebrew, and I run outside to see what happened. I see the door slam and the hooker run outside, her back looking like a Jackson Pollack painting of pure vomit. I walk in to see my boy doubled over, puke still leaking out of his mouth. Turns out, while he was doing it, how the dogs do, he threw up all over the girls back. Ever seen what a week of combat rations looks like when it comes back up? Now I have, and honestly, there isn’t enough liquor and therapy in the world, to quote Sterling Archer.

6000 shekels later (about $1700) they agree not to call the cops and I can throw my boy in a taxi and head back to the apartment. Sitting here now trying the ol’ hair of the dog method to cure my hangover before heading back to base.

Okay, so uh, we’re two stories in and we’ve got a squirting teacher and a hooker covered in puke. Awesome. Perfect way to start my week. I just poured my optimized butter coffee into the garbage next to my desk because it isn’t even worth attempting to stomach.

Patrick Reed won The Masters.

And there we have it. Strike three. The death blow. I just threw up harder than that dude did on the hooker.

Disclaimer: I know it isn’t publicly acceptable to admit, but I actually like Reed a lot. Checkered past? Sure. Bad boy? Absolutely. If he goes all in on winning The Ryder Cup for America, I’ll go all in on cheering for him down the stretch.

I thought I was responsible this weekend but here I am hammered from wine at a fellow PGPer’s Masters Party (s/o drunkcartographer) ranting about how we should all be doing raccoon yoga instead of goat yoga. Also congrats to #DadBod Patrick Reed.

This is the whitest submission ever received.

I found a half eaten piece of pizza in my purse while at brunch on Saturday.

I like how all these submissions suddenly went from long and detailed to short and (somewhat?) sweet. It’s probably evidence of the hangovers.

Another Disclaimer: This was from my girlfriend.

This MUST be anonymous–I’ve deleted my email signature, though google on my email address name will ruin that anyways. Thanks. Long time reader first time poster, love your long form work.

I coach at a Power Five College in The South. We had a rare weekend off from travel and competition, so I blindly agreed to road trip with a friend/mentee of mine to a conference at another College in a nearby state. Thursday my credit and debit cards get frauded and therefore shut down. I decide no worries to continue with the weekend, cash I got from the bank will suffice. Friday morning I discover that all rental cars in our city are overbooked due to a big sporting event (unrelated), so my friend against my suggestions decides to drive four hours from his city to mine and then start the six and a half hour trek to the conference site (far longer than my ignorant Yankee brain had realized). At least the AirBnB I booked for us is hosted by a grad student who does legit modeling and is quite flirty over text when I say we’ll be getting in late.

Right when we’re really in the middle of nowhere and making decent time, a thunder storm (big enough that I got multiple automated lightning warning texts to my phone) dumps right on our heads, in the exact direction that we’re headed, forcing us to alternately stop and edge along at half speed for about an hour and a half. Genuinely freaky. We arrive at 245am exhausted to find the AirBnb only has one bed for the my friend and I and the girl has a friend over who is probably a bouncer somewhere and whose sole purpose is clearly to make sure we don’t hit on her. OK, whatever, off to bed.

The conference goes fine though we’re obviously tired. We drive back to my friends city where I plan to stay overnight. Halfway we both start getting very grumpy and squabble badly. I say screw it, I want to get home tonight, and rent a car in his city to drive back–not a big deal I figure. I had a previously, accidentally suspended license due to an up-north speeding ticket years ago that I didn’t take care of properly and only just recently discovered and paid off, so I keep cruise control on, being very careful on two lane country roads that you just want to fly on…Near some train tracks, a car in front of me inexplicably slows down, so I go off the cruise control and blow past them (it was a Chevy Malibu, you can barely feel it!!), only to be immediately pulled over by a hidden cop. Awesome.

Turns out my license reinstatement has not yet processed/reached the computer systems, and the speed limit somehow went down from 65 to 55 in the stretch near the train tracks, so between the license and going 98 in a 55, the officer says he has to arrest me. But it gets better! Turns out, if you’re brought in after 8pm they’re not allowed to let you bail until 8am, so I spent the night in a County Sheriff’s office in the middle of back-country in a very southern state. Great fun, and because I’m less than a year into the job + am always traveling for my sport + am a workaholic, I have maybe one true friend in my city who of course is away this weekend…So I get to call, on a Saturday night, a fellow coach from our team whom I’ve socialized with all of twice and ask if he can drive first thing tomorrow morning two hours into bumfuck to bail me out of jail, AND bring about $400 cash with him because I don’t have working credits cards and need the bail + getting my car from the tow place. Great fun!

Upon returning ‘home’, I decide being inside on a beautiful day and dealing with papers for my PhD, prep for the week in my main job, scheming how I’m going to financially accommodate that $1300 fine from last night which all need serious attention, is not going to happen. I call a ladyfriend and we drive down to the beach a couple of hours away, get frisky in the sand, and start driving back. Right as the Scaries are starting to hit me, two collaborators from one of my PhD projects call me. Not wanting to avoid them as they’re industry giants, I pick up, quickly realizing I do not have the neural capacity to keep pace in the conversation. Right when I’m really starting to shit the bed, ladyfriend decides it’s a great idea to go down on me, since she hasn’t gotten attention for five minutes. I try like hell to wave her off but she persists. Great, now I might crash this rental car. I manage to eventually get myself off the phone but not before probably making my industry colleagues strongly question their decision to do a project with me. I nearly elbow ladyfriend in the ear and we stop for groceries on the way home, where of course we run straight into a girl I recently met and had far greater aspirations for than the one I’m currently in public with. Horribly awkwardness followed by angry text streams ensue.

Now I’m at home, Scaries peaking, laughing that with mid-to-late-twenties jobs and life come appropriate consequences for stretching yourself too thin, running risks, and being an idiot. Oh, and I have my 9-month-review at work on Tuesday and while all indications are it’ll go well, that’s a great outlet for which to shit bricks right now. Am desperately hoping nobody at work finds out I got arrested. Never really knew what the Sunday Scaries were while reading these columns. Now I know.

Wow, that’s a damn gumbo of issues there. We’re all praying for you, but none of us are really feeling that bad for you because it sounds like you’re crushing it with the ladies. Maybe just avoid getting arrested while going for our PhD though.

Heeeeeeeeeeeey Will –

Writing from my plane on the way home from a weekend in Nashville.

Supposed to stay tame Friday night but ended up going hard Friday, night threw up Saturday morning, rallied and went to the Predators hockey game. Went hard again and woke up this morning only to go to Broadway to experience watching Sunday Masters while navigating around live country shit bands and copious amounts of Titos and waters.

It’s sunday night, Rickie didn’t win the Masters and my plane doesn’t land until 12:50 am Cleveland time. Have to work at 8:00 am with a Nashvegas, Rickie loss hangover. Wish me luck.

Never EVER get a flight that lands that late on a Sunday night / Monday morning. People thought I was psychotic for getting a mid-day flight during Sunday of The Masters but once I bit the bullet and admitted to myself that I wouldn’t be watching, knowing I could be home in bed after a long weekend of drinking was the fuel that kept me going.

New rules from here on out:

1. Never go back to your Alma Mater.

2. Catch the early flight.

Long time reader, first time submitter. My weekend consisted of a trip to Miami to run a Tough Mudder. I went with a handful of coworkers and a couple out of town friends of one of the coworkers. Friday night we actually managed to keep things tame since we had to be ready for the race in the morning. Saturday we go to the race, everyone gets sunburnt because there wasn’t actually any mud to get covered in, and destroy our legs with the running and obstacles. We never ate lunch so everyone is starving by dinnertime, and we go out for sushi which is too expensive to buy enough food to completely satisfy our hunger so we knew already we’d be hitting up drunk food later in the night.

We go out to the clubs afterward which involves some terrible dance moves, spilling my beer on a random woman, and obviously spending way too much money on drinks. Plus the friend of one of the coworkers is extremely creepy to the girls (he was like 40+, we’re all 22-25). We leave the first club to walk around and some bouncer tells one of the girls with us to come inside. We go up the elevator to this rooftop bar and get kicked out after about two minutes for climbing on couches and fountains. I start browning out as we get pizza and head back to the hotel.

In the morning we have to make the 4+ hour drive back home with hangovers as well as completely exhausted bodies. Furthermore, on the drive home, I receive a phone call from my friend who was watching my dog that my dog bit another dog in the dog park and the owner is trying to get in contact with me. Now I am expecting to add a stranger’s vet bill to my already expensive weekend and the stress at this point is almost enough to make me pull the car over.

Finally, when I get home, I learn that my old apartment won’t let me get into my old mailbox, where some documents I need to file my taxes have been sent instead of to the apartment I just moved into.

Is it bad that who I feel most bad for in this situation is the dog that got bitten?

Hey Will huge fan of the site. Ok so I have second hand scaries from my buddy’s Friday night. Before the pregame it was already a shitshow. For the sake of my roommates we’ll call them Jake and Nick. So Jake is a huge golf fan and Nick’s a huge baseball fan. Jake was in Master’s mode and Nick started chirping him saying baseball is a harder sport. Jake got way too defensive and started pressing Nick throwing his head against the apartment wall. Not a good start to the night. Jake was still pissed about the argument 2 hours later and punched a hole in his bedroom wall. Fast forward to the bar around 1 AM. Jake hits our friends expensive mixed drink out of his hand during his blackout. Said friend was pissed… Fast forward an our later back at said friends, we’ll call him Kyle’s, apartment. Jake keeps screaming and yelling to the point where the people that live upstairs left a note under their door telling them to be quiet. Jake was the only one that read it cuz he ripped it to shreads. Jake then decides to keep drinking as he chugged a quarter of a handle of vodka, then dropped a tray of Kyle’s lasagna on the floor minutes afterwards. Kyle and company kept trying to kick Jake out and walk him a few blocks back home. When Jake finally agreed to go home as a final send off he head butted Kyle’s friends car, denting the shit out of it. He then ate ass on the sidewalk and made it back home without anymore chaos. Next day he spent hiding from the world in his room and throwing up everywhere within sight. Can’t wait to see that bill for the car.

Dude, WHAT? You need to 1. Stop being friends with Jake and 2. Tell your ex-friend Jake that he needs to stop taking steroids. This is psychotic behavior all around. I hate Jake.

It’s 2am, I’m kinda rolling and I have 3 straight hours of meetings with C Suite people tomorrow. At least I’m wearing my Sunday Scaries long sleeve. Ts and Ps appreciated. Pet Rosie, she’s perfect.

Kinda rolling? You go to a Widepsread show or something? Never miss a Sunday show, amiright?

Also, *wave emoji* times three.

First time, long time you know the drill. Anyway I thought I was primed to have an amazing weekend full of nothing but lounging on my couch with the dog and watching the Masters on four different screens for an optimal situation. Saturday went off without a hitch, worked until noon and went straight home and did not move until the coverage was over. My town had a little beer festival downtown so afterwards I went down for a few hours and all was great. Sunday came and started with brunch and mimosas at the house with my roommates and girlfriend before coverage began. a little over an hour into the coverage my girlfriend gets a call and has to leave to go the hospital for a family emergency. Fast forward a few hours and I find myself sitting in the lobby of the hospital with her and her family. Ended up staying there until well past my Sunday bed time. Sunday Scaries were at an all time high. I thought being in an airport late on a Sunday was bad but it has no comparison to a hospital watching the ones you love in pain. Thoughts and prayers appreciated.

Damn, this didn’t end the way we all wanted it to. Everyone call their loved ones. Best cure for a bad case of Sunday Scaries. .

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Will

Will (Twitter / Instagram) is the host of The Sunday Scaries Podcast.

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