Hands Down, The Worst Birthday I’ve Ever Had

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Well, my birthday’s coming up. I don’t really get excited about it like I used to. Maybe it would be more fun if I went all out, but that sounds truly exhausting at my ripe age of 24. It doesn’t help that I’m the cheapest person I know either. Take brunch for instance. I don’t see the fun in making my friends spend $60 each for two hours’ worth of weak drinks and avocado on toast.

I wasn’t always wet blanket when it came to my own birthday. I’ve actually been reflecting on my past birthdays as I get closer to another year. I wanted to share one time in particular when I threw down for my birthday and, well, I’ll just say it was a learning experience.

It was my 20th birthday, and I wanted it to be big. I decided to throw a huge pregame and then throw down a chunk of my college money (sorry, mom) at my favorite bar so all of my friends could have some drinks on me, which I now realize is the exact opposite of how birthdays should go. As a side note, the bar let me do it because they thought I was turning 21 (if any of my friends who worked there are reading this, sorry about that).

I’m not sure why it was so important to me that my birthday was a huge event. In hindsight, I think I tried to make it a big deal partly because I was ego-crazy at the time, but also partly because I wanted this girl I had a huge crush on to stop by. Sort of like a more pathetic Great Gatsby. Sticking with the Great Gatsby theme, I’ll call the girl “Daisy” from now on.

At that point, I had had a crush on her since early high school, when I found out she was childhood best friends with one of my friends through the early days of Facebook stalking. She went to a different school, though, so it would be weird for me to ask our mutual friend to casually set up a hangout just because I thought she was hot. This was also when Facebook creeping was still taboo since nobody had started openly admitting to doing it yet. So, I chalked it up to a loss until sophomore year of college when my best friends and I knocked on their neighbor’s door to meet them and invite them over to pregame, and DAISY answered the door. She lived in the freaking apartment literally right next door to where I spent most of my time. Small world. I felt like my life was a poorly written coming-of-age movie. We spent the next couple of months casually warming up to each other until I decided that I’d make a move on my birthday, so I texted her and invited her to the pregame and the bar tab.

The pregame was wild. I had like three beer pong tables set up and one huge table for stack cup. I had an ice luge with a bunch of different liquors. I borrowed these massive speakers from my DJ friend and spent hours making a fire playlist that had the perfect amount of ’90s music and Beyoncé to keep the girls happy. I even had a backdrop for people to take pictures. My buddy was there doing magic tricks (that wasn’t planned but it for sure added). But after an hour passed, Daisy still wasn’t there. I decide to drown my sorrows by playing high stakes beer pong, which is one-on-one beer pong with a full can of beer in each cup, AND if you lose, you have to finish the other person’s leftover cups. After a couple of games and a party puke, I feel way better about myself and headed to the bar to start the tab.

For the first hour or so of my birthday tab, I felt like the man. I was at the center of every round of shots and every group photo, but the Daisy to my Jay Gatsby still wasn’t there. This was when all of the drinks started kicking in and things get fuzzy. The last thing I remember is being super excited that she finally showed up to the bar, and then talking to her for like 15 minutes straight. Then it was all black.

Next thing I know, it’s daytime and I have an insane headache. I wake up to find out that I’m fully clothed (including shoes), my phone’s dead, and I’m not in my room. It’s obviously some girl’s room, but it also looks vaguely familiar. I look at the photo collage that every single girl ever has hanging up on her wall, and holy shit, I realize that this room belongs to Daisy. I’ve used that bathroom before during past pregames. I finally spent the night in her bed after all this time, but she wasn’t there. She wasn’t in the living room or kitchen either. In fact, her whole entire apartment was empty.

I was alone in Daisy’s apartment still wearing last night’s clothes with my phone dead, shoes on, and a mind-numbing hangover. It was too much for me to handle, so I drink about 4 cups of water, unlock the door, and start walking home. I plug my phone in and it turns on after a while. The first thing that pops up is a text from her that says “hey come get me :)” at 3 am. I thought to myself “wow I AM the man.” But then more texts start absolutely POURING in. My phone looked and sounded like a Vegas slot machine. They’re all from her, and I can barely read them as they fly by, but they were saying things like “where are you” and “What the fuck!” and “WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU??”

When the notifications stopped, I saw that I had about 60 missed calls and texts from her. I felt like I was Guy Pearce in Memento trying to remember what went down using only text clues and hazy memories. From all the voicemails and texts, I pieced together that we left the bar together after some classy bar PDA and got a cab to her place since her roommates were out of town. But once we got there, we found out she also lost her keys. Not surprisingly, she also didn’t want to hook up on my friends’ couch. This was also during the years when Lyft and Uber were banned in my hometown and my place was a bit too far away, so we would’ve had to call a taxi which could take half an hour to show up. The building manager wasn’t there at 3 am either, so the only way to get into her place was through the balcony door, which was unlocked but about 15ft from the ground. So, the plan was to get into her place through the balcony and let her in. The only problem was that I was 100 percent blackout.

Through what I’m assuming was sheer testosterone, I scaled the building using the narrow windowsills on the ground floor and the flimsy vertical rain gutter to prop me up. I hoisted myself over the railing and got into her place where I apparently just spotted her bed and walked to it like a Russian sleeper agent who was just given their code word. Then I just passed the fuck out on her bed while leaving her outside on the dark sidewalk like a true gentleman. Naturally, she called me until my phone died and then ended up sleeping on my best friends’ couch next door. I didn’t hear from her much after that.

You know what, I change my mind. I’m actually glad that happened. I love that story..

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Everett

Unaccomplished comedian. Got stuff to complain about? email me: everettmcm@gmail.com

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