Oktoberfests, Tailgates, And Armed Robberies: The Worst Stories From This Past Weekend

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“I’m not going out this weekend” always turns into “Why do I always do this to myself?” come Sunday night. 10,000 calories and a million beers later, here we are again looking back on the weekend that was.

Every once in a while, we break these stories down on Touching Base because they’re just too good to leave alone. Subscribe on iTunes and SoundCloud, or listen below to this playlist where every ‘Bad Weekend’ episode is compiled.

As always, these are unedited stories from anonymous readers.

This past weekend there were many Oktoberfest events, as it was opening weekend in Munich. Got up & started to pregame the afternoon event with my roommates before heading to this outdoor beer garden. More than a 1/2 dozen IPAs deep already with no food in my stomach, I proceeded to arrive, order a few pitchers and buy myself one of the big ass 1 liter beer steins to drink out of.

Drink and then drink some more… vaguely remember getting some sort of mexican rice bowl from a food truck and continue drinking. I remember it starting to get dark but do not remember leaving, or where I was going.

Next thing I remember is I am waking up, face down on an outdoor couch cushion which I have placed on this cement patio and am missing my phone. I have been sleeping on the cement patio of an office building about 5min walk from the beer garden completely hidden from view of the sidewalk & a cop car.

I get up, don’t really know which way to go because i just moved to this city and start walking. Finally get out of this industrial complex and stick out my thumb to try and hitch a ride. An Uber driver pulls over, asks where I’m headed, end up paying him $20 cash to bring me home. Wake up the next day, drive myself back to where I woke up and found my phone under the couch from the night before. Worst part is the stein is MIA.

No, Random Internet Person, the worst part is that you thought it was a good idea to drink six IPAs on an empty stomach. That’s difficult enough on your system as it is, but doing so without eating an ounce of food is just downright irresponsible. Possibly more irresponsible than sleeping on a couch cushion at an office complex.

Proper preparation prevents poor performance. Eat before you get blasted. It not only helps keep you going to longer, but it helps your hangover even more.

I’m 22 and have a pretty nice job. Only problem is that while I’ve had my offer since November of last, I don’t start until October. Now that all my friends are either back at school or working, Being bored out of my mind, I took a 6 hour car ride back to my university to drink with the boys again. Four days of sloppy drinking and waking up on misc couches was good, but I figured I’d visit some of the working friends in NYC.

Bought a spur of the moment bus ticket and a hostel and got there on Friday. Got there, unpacked, and started drinking at about 3 and some bar that was significantly too trendy for me. Met up with a friend who had just moved there, and did the prototypical touristy bars but got a solid buzz on. After about 9, my buddy left (somebody had work at 5 am to next morning). I didn’t want to pus out and not drink, so I sat myself down at what I found out was an award winning swanky restaurant’s bar.

Ordered a bottle of wine and befriended the 40 year old guy next to me over college football. Never once did I question why this 40 year old man claiming to be a successful marketing bro was drinking alone at 9. Either way, I was 20 drinks in at this point and feeling it. This guys told me he was going to his neighborhood bar a few blocks away, and in my desire for some friendship I came alone. Little did I know this was an adult bar filled with people with actually make money and aren’t concerned with blacking out as a number 1 priority. Many gin and tonics later I lost it. Woke up the next morning butt naked on my hostel floor. Puke all over my bed, no credit card or ID, in actual pain. Good thing I had no idea where I went and had to scour all of Chelsea going bar to bar asking if I was there. no luck.

I can’t fathom going to New York City and staying in a fucking hostel. There’s a reason the movie Hostel is a horror movie and not a romantic comedy about a couple that meets at a fucking wine bar in Chelsea.

If you don’t have friends good enough to stay with, don’t go to New York City. If you can’t afford a hotel in New York City, don’t go to New York City. Hell, unless you can hack it in San Francisco and London without batting an eye, just stay clear of New York fucking City.

This past Friday I had free tickets to go see a concert performed by my favorite country singer. Now, free tickets seem like a good idea, but with the way my brain works, that meant I was obligated to spend that much extra on drinks. We pregamed at a downtown apartment way harder than any human being should, while also watching my money dissipate as I was losing my bet on a Friday night college football game. About an hour before concert time, some guys in my pledge class and I started trying to outdo each other by taking aggressively long pulls of Burnett’s vodka. This pretty much set the tone for the rest of the weekend.

Finally, it was time to go to the concert. We start walking to the venue when one of the ladies we were with notices the country singer smoking a cigarette in the alley behind the building where the concert was being held. Now, as mentioned before, this is my favorite country artist, and having the ability to meet him in the near-blacked out state I was in was way too much for me to handle. We ended up going over and talking to him for awhile and surprisingly the circumstances sobered us up enough to not make complete asses of ourselves in front of him. After we say our goodbyes and tell him to put on a hell of a show, we head inside, where I go straight to the bar to celebrate what had just happened. I spent the entirety of the concert double fisting double whiskey sours and riding my adrenaline rush that I gained from the previous events.

This is where the series of unfortunate events kicks off. The alcohol eventually sets in and at some point in the concert, I black out completely and don’t remember anything at all. I have no idea how I got home, I spent all of the money in my wallet, and I wake up to a phone call from a friend telling me to wake up and head to our tailgate that I was already two hours late to. I moan, roll off of my bed, find my gameday polo, and then realize that there is a girl that I have never seen in my life laying in my bed right next to where I had just woken up. I had no idea what to do so I just ordered an Uber for her, told her there was a ride to come get her, and sprinted out the door as fast as possible.

At the tailgate, I thought I was going to just take it easy and everything was going to be okay, but I didn’t realize that I was already really drunk from the night before when I showed up and proceeded to black out again before noon (we had an 11 AM kickoff). At some point, I ended up back at my place, where I bet an uncomfortable amount of money on my team to beat the terrible G5 team we were playing. When I woke up from my nap, I found out that we lost to said terrible team, I lost a lot of money betting on that game, and I had to call my bank to open my bank account back up because yes, it was me losing all of that money in just that 24 hour stretch.

The Sunday scaries after all of this were by far the worst I ever had, and to top it all off, I had a presentation to present the next day followed by two science exams on that upcoming Tuesday. Long story short, if you’re offered free tickets to go see your favorite artist, don’t do it because it’s a trap and you’ll lose about half of the money to your name.

Oh, we feel so badly for you. Getting free tickets to your favorite artist’s show only to meet said artist must be tough. Must be even more tough to wake up next to a girl you’ve never met who you probably hooked up with despite being hammered.

Just kidding – take your head out. That sounds like a hell of a weekend.

Its 8 am and I’m not under any influences, I’m very well hydrated thank you. This was my vacay week and I spent it with my family in south LA. Last night we had a crab boil, which was great, but this morning my farts are sulphurous, borderline toxic. That’s actually what woke me up. Its supposed to be raining along the way, so no open windows. I have a 10 hour drive back. I don’t think beano can save me.

Gross.

the weekend was a whirlwind. some of my pledge class and i went back to the city of our school, our plan was not to even go back to the fraternity house knowing it would only lead to bad things.

friday night get all got into town and proceeded to tailgate a baseball game. while in the game the closest vendor wasn’t selling beer only long island ice teas and our lazy asses didn’t want to walk any farther to get alcohol so all we drank through the game was liquor. something a group of 30 year old guys in 95° heat shouldn’t do. we didn’t even make it to the bars and had to leave our car parked overnight at the stadium because none of us could drive (got a great ticket for this). saturday was filled with a typical brunch and walking around the city probably looking overly white. after going to get the car the guy who was driving made a decision without telling anyone that we were gonna stop by the house “just to see if anything had changed”, terrible mistake. we get to the house and walk in to find out its bid day and when we heard this we should have walked right out but of course we didn’t. before we knew it we were telling them that we’d come back at night and see the new pledges. i don’t remember much from the night once we started drinking but all i know is i don’t miss the taste of warm beer and cheap whiskey. i somehow ended up taking 3 uber’s just to get to the hotel. i haven’t seen any of the my friends yet, i have thrown up my whole stomach including the water i tried to drink.

i have to drive 3 hours today back home and then take a 5:15am flight for work with my boss tomorrow morning…

Say it with me now: “Don’t. go. back. to. your. alma. mater.”

95-degree heat and liquor rarely make for a combination that ends well, but when you’ve got the band back together in a town where you used to dominate, things are going to go south real quick. Hopefully you didn’t wreak like booze on the 5:15 a.m. flight. That’s got “sweats” written all over it.

Hope this sees you well. I will be using the term “radery” throughout this email, which is basically the condensed version of Camaraderie. I have not had a good weekend, cumulatively speaking. Let me get into it.

We finish up an absolute grind week at the office. Buddies are supposed to come down to get radery Friday night, however one recently tied up buddy was bound to his girlfriend instead. No issues from this guy, we boozed at our apartment and got a great nights sleep.

Wake up Saturday morning, got a waterfront breakfast, and then headed to our city’s air show to drink and awe at our great country’s air supremacy. Safe to say I had a freedom boner for the better part of the afternoon. We then headed back to our spot to continue drinking, and then went back out to get more radery.

Ending off our night, we got back to our place to find our apartment ransacked and broken into, for the second time since we moved in 2 months ago. Except this time, these guys decided to take the guns we had in the apartment. Basically didn’t sleep due to discussions with law enforcement and now I am spending all afternoon researching new places to move after I barely got settled.

This week is going to suck.

This is what you get for trying to make “radery” happen. I know this seems like a good idea in your circle of friends and coworkers, but I assure you, someone heard you over-use it at the bar and were like, “Fuck these guys, let’s rob them and take all their guns.” I know it’s not the truth you wanted to hear, but it’s the only truth I know.

Ubered home from the bar Saturday night like a responsible young adult, but was pretty drunk so naturally fell asleep on the way home. Somehow managed to wake up in jail. Recanted the with the u we driver and she said that she couldn’t move me or get me out of the car so her first instinct was to call the cops and I was in turn arrested IN MY OWN FRONT YARD. Needless to say the Sunday scaries are in full effect.

This is awful. I actually read this one during last night’s Panic Room Live on Instagram and I’m pretty sure it derailed my thinking for a good ten minutes after. As someone who falls asleep in the back seats of cars fairly easily, this is my biggest fear.

To remedy the situation, I’ve been hopping in the front seat if I’m on my way home from the bars. Sure, looks like a psycho move, but the chances of falling asleep in the front are much, much lower. Thank me later.

Here is my shitty weekend which I can’t think of a worse few days in a long time.

This weekend in hell started on Thursday when I decided it would be a good idea to drive from New York to Florida back to school (yes PGP has undergrad readers) instead of being a normal person and taking a flight. After waking up and leaving a friends house that I stayed with roughly halfway through the trip, I had a complete tire blowout. On the highway. In the middle of nowhere. With no spare. So then I spend the next two hours waiting watching Friday Night Lights because I am only about halfway through the series and need to binge hard af. By the time I get to my apartment, I find out that the power went out for a few days and that all the food in my fridge has since gone bad. Fast forward to Saturday morning where there is a tailgate that I am given the job of working the grill. In already 90+ degree heat. You can probably see where that went seeing that I believe you and the guys on Touching Base once touched on the best color pants to wear while tailgating to minimize the visibility of your swamp ass.

Finally here we are today, as I am sitting writing this email in my car, on the side of the road, waiting for a tow, in Florida weather. Fuck German engineering am I right?

Don’t pray for me I think death by heat exhaustion is the best option now.

Also Micah send me a mouse pad.

I respect your dedication to Friday Night Lights which is sadly leaving Netflix this weekend. But I hate to say it – it only gets worse from there, man. Savor it while you still can.

And don’t let Micah get away without giving you a mousepad. He has like 500 on his desk at any given moment.

Saturday was a doozy, and not just because it was above 90 degrees out in late-September in Chicago. Started with a quality brunch where enough mimosas were consumed to inebriate Rhode Island. After that, Goose Island was having their 312 block party with $3 beers. This is about 5 pm. I black the fuck out around what I’m guessing is about 7:30 pm. I come in around 9 pm and don’t have a clue where I am, have apparently fallen down at point and am alone. I look up and see that I’m at the corner of Polk and Oakley, which is a little under 2 miles from the brewery. I probably should’ve been worried for my well-being, but really I was more upset about the scrape on my knee. Fortunately my buddy and his lady friend texted me asking if I wanted to come to a party with them, which ended up in them driving out to come pick up the lost dog that I was. Did not go to the party, but instead to another friend’s place to do some casual drinking. That resulted in me puking all over the steps to his apartment. Woke up on his couch this morning curled up in a ball.

And to think I convinced someone to employee me and start my new job tomorrow.

There are no Scaries like the Scaries before starting a new job, and that’s a fact. If you enter the office and see that everyone / everything sucks, you know the next eight to twelve months of your life are going to suck until someone else decides to hire you. Be strong.

Was having a decent enough time by myself bar hopping on Saturday night, until some frat star made me take a selfie with him. I watched him caption it “lol moms” and put it on his snap chat story. I’m 23, single, and 100% childless.

Hahahahahahahahahahahahaha. I’d feel bad laughing at this but I once had three women in a row guess that I looked 34 when I was actually 28 so I’m right there with you.

“lol moms.” Classic. .

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Will

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

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