Call me old-fashioned, but I like sleeping in my own bed. There is something about knowing how the pillows fluff and how much coverage I need to stay just the right amount of warm that really feathers my nuts. It’s the simple things that make me happy. On occasion, certain choices throughout my life have caused me to surrender this luxury, but in exchange they’ve yielded some great results, and this was one of them.
It was a Friday afternoon and I had just gotten off work at my shitty office temp job. I was Ryan from The Office — an undervalued and eager dreamer with a slight coke problem. This was the week before finals and several of us were heading up to UCONN to engage in some debauchery. The plan was to pregame at my buddy’s house and then head into campus to meet up with the rest of our group.
The ride up was about 40 minutes and being the alcoholics that we were, we decided to pregame before the pregame, but we needed a driver. This time Matt’s brother Tyler was nowhere to be found so I volunteered to drive and figured I’d just pound some shots once we got to the house.
On our way up, my buddy Chris, who was in the passenger seat, thought it’d be a swell idea to piss out of the window while we were doing 65 down the highway. Without any warning, he jumped up and before anyone realized what was happening, he let roughly eight beers worth of urine flow out through his window and right back in through the back window. In a matter of seconds, he managed to piss all over four people.
Once we got to the house, Chris tried to downplay the severity of his party foul and even went as far to say “You guys are lucky it was me who pissed on you and not some fucking stranger!” Which made no goddamn sense and instantly warranted my buddy John to punch Chris in the throat.
We pregamed for about an hour and then headed to campus on foot. Since I was trying to catch up drinking-wise, I may have underestimated the effects of large amounts alcohol on the body when consumed in a very short amount of time. Once I latched onto a handle of Captain I had become a liability.
As I passed my second couch-burning I began to realize that I had gotten separated from the group and had no fucking idea where I was. My phone, wallet, and keys were all back at the house. When I did try to call my buddy John from a random girl’s phone, it went straight to voicemail.
The more I wandered, the more lost I became, and somehow I ended up on a long stretch of highway walking solo like a seasoned serial killer. There were no cars, people, or any kind of civilization for miles. The only source of nourishment I had was the now half-full handle of Captain I had been cradling all night. It was hot and I knew I had to take in fluids but with each swig came a devilish trade: quench thirst but lose more cognitive function.
After about an hour, I managed to circle back onto campus but nothing looked familiar because as I later found out it was the opposite side of where I had begun the night. Things were looking rather bleak, and I was done.
The cops and fire department were tired of putting out couches and breaking up alcohol-spiked fights, so they began clearing the area and ushering everyone back inside. I chatted up a couple of sixes and followed them up to their dorm where the party continued. Still unable to reach John, I began scoping out the area and setting up camp for the night because I sure as shit wasn’t about to embark on another solo expedition. Down the hall, I saw my opportunity and took it.
With the nearly-empty handle in hand, I plopped down on a bed and was out like a light bulb. I awoke to a horribly loud scream and was promptly sent right back to my slumber as some gnarly twat cracked me in the head with my very own handle. As I came to, with one eye completely shut and blood streaming down my face, I was being tended to by a very sweet-looking, pretty-eyed strong eight with major league knobs.
It might have been the alcohol or the concussion, but as she wiped the blood from my face, all I could think about was how to turn this into a win. She helped me up and I caught a glimpse of that psychopathic gnarly beast standing in the corner, arms crossed, tapping her foot on the ground and it became apparent that it was her bed that I had deflowered.
Nikki, my sexy nurse, escorted me past her and as a last resort I knocked everything off of her desk with a pterodactyl-like swipe. Nikki smiled and sharply exclaimed to the beast, “Let it go, Sharon!” We had a connection.
She drove me to the ER, waited as I got patched up and then drove me home where I sealed the deal and got her number. We went on to date for a few years.
The moral of the story: Don’t be afraid to step out of your comfort zone, drunkenly wander on your own path and sleep wherever the fuck you want because one day you might wake up to something great..