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It was your typical Friday night – ducked out of work a little bit early around 4:15 p.m. after the boss had been out since 2:00 p.m.. Got home, relaxed for a few, shot the shit with the roommates, and then the evening began to take a turn for the worst. Still reeling from the hangover after Thursday night’s shenanigans, I wasn’t intending to do anything too crazy. My friends, if I can even call them that anymore, had vastly different plans.
What started out as a few casual beers in anticipation of another night at the bars was upended by the appearance of my Latino nemesis, Jose Cuervo. Courtesy of one of my roommates, the pregame became an all-you-can drink slugfest, with shots and beers flowing like we were back in undergrad. This left me in a state of near blackout before even heading out to our destination.
Descriptions of my appearance that night were not friendly for my ego. The phrases “dead on arrival,” “obliterated,” and the simple but cutting “Yikes, Brad” were all thrown at me the next day. However, it’s not those comments that have left me questioning when I’ll finally adjust to this whole “adult” lifestyle I’m apparently supposed to be living. Rather, it was the memories that came flooding back to me throughout Saturday in a wave of drunken regret unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.
I awoke confused and with an intense pain in my elbows. The cause of these injuries was later disclosed to me by my brain as I was granted the recollection of myself trying what some would call an “advanced” dance move before eating shit and landing elbows first on the ground. I vaguely remember being there at the bar, lying in a pool of spilt drinks and despair, but to be honest I’m glad the memory is hazy.
From there, the next thing I remember is being in my Uber ride home. After checking the time stamp, it appears I was at a bar for a confident and mature 45 minutes before heading out. Most likely, my drunken tumble ended my night, which was probably the only good decision I made that evening. The memory that flashed across my mind was that of my large Uber driver comforting me, and telling me that “everything is going to be okay” as I emptied the contents of the evening out his car window and onto the streets. Alone, I sat in the back of his Toyota Camry in shame, but silently thanking God that I’d splurged for an UberX instead of Pool.
More and more since graduating I’ve been reminded (often painfully) that I’m not in college anymore. Usually it’s just getting up to go to work in the morning, but sometimes it’s the throbbing remnants of a night that got out of control. I’ve been beginning to ask myself if it’s time to mature or “grow-up.” As much as I want to stuff that thought into the deepest recesses of my mind, it’s becoming increasingly difficult, especially after this weekend.
However, when it really comes down to it, I don’t want to grow up too fast. You only get to experience life in your early 20s once, and if it’s even partially socially acceptable to continue acting the way I have been, I’ll take the occasional loss like I experienced this weekend anytime. Life is short, and even though I might be drastically shortening it with my particular choice of habits, I wouldn’t have it any other way..