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Waking Up In A Hospital Bed In Charleston, SC

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“Let’s say screw it and book an extra night,” my roommate and traveling companion said to me.

He and I were on a road trip down the east coast from Jersey to hit all the sweet spots on our spring break. The epicenter of our trip would be the birthplace of Pi Kappa Phi, otherwise known as the lovely and wholesome city of Charleston, South Carolina.

“I’m in,” I said, with not much convincing needed at this point, considering I already crushed about eight beers and indulged in some of the smuggled goods we’d brought down with us.

My buddy got us a military discount on an extra night in Charleston and we were all in, and going all out. A couple of our other roommates and pledge brothers met us down there, as well. To sum our pledge class up in a small, descriptive sentence: We’re a bunch of washed up athletes and burnouts that, when together, challenge each other to get as drunk as possible and cause the most amount damage with least bit amount of care. Makes us sound like douchebags, but it’s true.

Fast forward a couple hours and we’re out on the town. All hocked up on whiskey and uppers, we head towards the Alpha house to see what these “#1s” could show us. Coincidentally, they were also on their spring break, so we snapped a quick pic and head to King St. where all the bars were. The first bar we were supposed to meet an alumnus at, but he bailed and went home (pussy), so instead I bought all my guys a round. One round turned to two, and two turned to three. When my two buddies started to see shit pick up, they decided to head back to the hotel to change into something more “club attire” as they saw a pocket tee and jeans wasn’t going to get them into anything. While they went, my other roommate and I stayed back and went to a bar to wait for them and have a few drinks.

That is the last thing I remember.

Next thing I remember was waking up on a stretcher with my sleeves rolled up and an IV in my arm, surrounded my nurses. I must have been in some type of triage room, because all of the nurses didn’t seem occupied with me. They were just talking to each other. “What the fuck,” was pretty much the only thing I could have said in that moment. Next thing I knew they jumped over to me and started holding me down.

“Sir, please stay calm okay,” said one nurse as the other nurse grabbed my ankles.

“I’m fuckin’ calm what the fuck is happening?” I said, obviously confused. I started to act erratic but resisting wasn’t in my body at the time. I was so drunk and dehydrated that I was pretty much a highly operating paraplegic. After the realization that I was putting up absolutely no struggle, they backed off and retreated to the front of the room.

They began reviewing my info, and I took this time to assess the situation. I was bloody, like really bloody, for some reason. I know I didn’t brawl cause my knuckles were starch white. My knee was scuffed pretty badly, and my face hurt like a bitch. Everything in my pockets was laid out on the counter beside me, my wallet torn to disarray in their effort to find out who I was.

“Is your name (insert fake ID name)?” one nurse asked.

“No my name is (first) fucking (last name)!” I exclaimed.

They replied with a collective “Ohhhhhhhh,” and at that moment they knew who to charge nine goddamn grand to.

As a nurse checked my vitals, I began to ask questions: “How the hell did I get here?”

“Well, the ambulance got you off the streets. They said you were passed out on the sidewalk. You gathered quite the crowd.”

I had to get more answers than this frumpy nurse could offer. I asked to have my phone so I could call my friends. My first set of phone calls went to my buddy that I last remembered being with — let’s call him Trevor — and all of them went to voicemail. The second batch went to my traveling partner, who didn’t answer either. My third and final batch went to my other roommate, who picked up. “Yo.”

“Yo? Dude I woke up in the fucking hospital. You gotta get me out of here,” I said still falling over my words.

“Yeah dude you’re an idiot, and Trevor got arrested. We tried picking you up but we couldn’t find you. Just stay there and they’ll release you.” *click*. That was encouraging. Turns out they searched for me all night but I was under my fake ID name and not my real one. Classic. My friend Trevor has a tendency to fight cops when he’s drunk so no shock on the arrest.

I passed out in the breezeway of a pet store next to the bar we were at and instead of being logical of the situation, he decided second time’s a charm and picked me up to walk again. Like a sack of drunken potatoes, I hit the crete’ and he began laughing and filming me. The crowd gathered in awe like they’ve never seen a blacked out 20-something before (I was only 20). Cops came, asked him what happened, he said “fuck you” a few times and realized he was only 20, as well. They booked him and sent me to the ER.

As I sat there, rotting away, I began to feel agitated. They wouldn’t let me leave. They said I had to finish my IV which was at the time 75% full. I tried to but couldn’t walk on account of the whole being blacked out thing, so I got thrown back on the gurney. I started deflecting my anger towards the nurse, whom responded wholesomely: “Would you like me to turn the lights off so you can take a nap until this is all over?”

My drunk self obliged. I woke up later to her yanking the tubes out of my arm, saying I was good to go. I signed my life away and hopped merrily along the one mile walk back to my hotel in blood stained nuthuggers and not a fuck to give.

As for the rest of that day, I bailed my buddy out for $250 after sitting through an hour long bond hearing of prostitutes, under-ages, heroin dealers, and drunk drivers in nothing but my blood stained nutties, fucked up face, and letters that said “Runnin’ shit till 1904” on my back.

We took the second night off to get some beer and seafood (shout-out to Hyman’s). My buddy and I still made it on the rest of our trip and I just got my hospital bill in the mail. Still worth it.

Image via Shutterstock

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