There are a series of small things that can completely devastate your desperately hungover Sunday – a spilled glass of water, a minor task that needs accomplishing, realizing that your favorite show is a rerun. But nothing can stop your heart in its tracks quite like your phone illuminating with a text message that you weren’t expecting.
Texting while hungover, while being a tradition, is one of the most arduous tasks one can partake in next to studying for finals or trying to find your Uber driver at 2 a.m. when you’re too drunk to read cross streets.
But when the texting takes the frightening transition from friendly group texts to heart-wrenching nuggets of anxiety? Well, that’s when the line needs to be drawn.
“FREE MSG: Fraud – Did you attempt a transaction for $2,200.11 at CLARK HOSPITALITY? If yes reply 1, if not reply 2.”
This undoubtedly came from a number like 337-46 rather than an actual telephone number, so naturally, your heart rate spikes until your shaky hand unlocks your phone and sees what type of devastating news is delivered by way of a green text. The thoughts that run through your mind when you have a random exuberant charge on your phone go from, “Oh my God, did I black out and buy the entire round of Patron?” to “What if I can’t contest this fraudulent charge and they make me pay it?” Fever dreams of bankruptcy flow through your veins while you respond with “2” hoping your bank will take care of it.
The last thing you want to do is talk to a customer service representative on the phone when your brain can barely put sentences together, but alas, you have no choice. “Make this right, Theresa from Chase Bank,” you think to yourself in between dry heaves.
“Do you remember when you [insert activity you clearly do not remember doing last night]?”
While yes, recapping a weekend with friends is a great way to keep yourself off the ledge, singling someone out by ridiculing them for something they clearly don’t remember is more inexcusable than blind ordering an expensive bottle of wine at dinner and making everyone split it with you. Society recognizes that what happens when you blacked out never actually happened, so don’t bring that kind of evil on someone who’s already reassessing every aspect of their life.
The worst part about receiving this text is that you know the person on the other end is in the same boat as you and they’re using your sad state as a means to make themselves feel better. They aren’t asking from a sincere place in their heart – they’re asking because they want to know that, even though they’re in a sad state of affairs, someone is below them.
“Hey, can you do me a favor?”
Like move? No – and I wouldn’t help you even if I hadn’t gotten sauced last night. Pick you up somewhere? Probably still drunk (or at least have enough lingering alcohol on my system that this is a no-go). Small maintenance project? We’d end up at the hospital.
Asking someone if they can “do you a favor” is the worst open-ended question that one can ask. A “favor” can be anywhere from find someone a phone number to give up a kidney. And when you’re already struggling to complete minor tasks because you don’t know how to hold your liquor, doing anything for anyone is essentially out of the question.
[A photo or video of you doing something embarrassing.]
Right beneath famous dictators and the actual devil are people who document you at your worst. Hell, you can even lump in people who remember everything that happened the night before when clearly no one else does. Keep your stories to yourself, Mark Twain.
When you start factoring in visual evidence of you being your worst self, though? That’s when this person goes from “friend” to “oh, hey man, what’s up” the next time you’re out. Sending an iMessage filled with embarrassing imagery is the modern-day equivalent of uploading a 60-photo album to Facebook from a party where everyone blacked out on Jungle Juice.
No no no no no. Never mind the fact that “Sunday Funday” is the worst phrase in the history of the English language, but nothing ruins a Sunday like shampooing it all back in. Sundays are for licking your wounds and smelling bad; they’re not for pretending like it’s Saturday again and praying that you won’t be hungover on Monday.
You already made it through an entire weekend where you didn’t lose your credit card (*checks frantically to make sure credit card is in your wallet*), so stop playing with house money and stay the fuck in.
When that random number comes across your notifications, your thoughts range from “Did I get someone pregnant last night?” to “Who died?” The random number text is the golden goose of outside factors that can take your hangover from manageable to existential crisis. Just be glad that the number is a human rather than someone trying to steal your identity along with thousands of dollars of money you don’t actually have. .