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At TFM, we love sharing the fucking ridiculousness and debauchery that our followers experience during their nights out. Unfortunately, not every crazy story can be communicated through a 20 second Instagram video. These are the stories that happen when you are too incapacitated, that is too crazy at the moment to whip your phone out, or legally require anonymity. We have been changing the format of these Craziest Stories blogs as more people are submitting them so thank you. Here is an extra long one that certainly deserves its own blog. Please enjoy…
Mark-
Summer sixteen was a time period like no other. No matter who you are or where your from – those four months bank in everyone’s minds like the first kiss you got from an ex who dumped you at recess in middle school. Drake must have had his spidey senses tingling when he put out that song because no one could have predicted the madness that was ‘summer 16’. I’ve gone far and wide telling this tale like one of the 12 Apostles and forced detail during every game of ‘never have I ever’; this is the story of a lad who blacked out and passed out at a Church in the early morning hours of a stormy night in June 2016.
As I sit here writing this, procrastinating on all the work my boss has been on my ass about submitting, I can’t help but recall the events that transpired that night. It was my first summer home from Uni, fresh off 3 public intoxication citations and a brief family intervention regarding my drunken behavior. The parents were away on holidays down south so the pregame was at my place. It was like watching a class 5 hurricane brew; all the liabilities were present and firing on all cylinders. I knew shit was going to get rowdy when a big fella dropped his already half-drunk 26’er of Jose Cuervo and simply bought a fresh one to replace it. Fast-forward 2 hours and I’m already forgetting my name. The boys are pumped to hit the usual Friday venue; a place where only the most intoxicated of society can spend more than 20 minutes without contemplating what they are doing there, to begin with. As we waited in line, my crush walked past me and touched my shoulder telling me ‘I’ll see you inside’ as she and her friends bypassed VIP privilege. Little did she know I was lucky to have even progressed to this point of the night and could barely stand let alone have a conversation. The bouncer noticed my state immediately – picking me out of the line-up like I had robbed a bank without a mask.
“You can’t come in” was a phrase that was common to my ears. As the fellas approached the front of the line, I was faced with the difficult decision to either plead my case with the bouncer or cut my losses and chalk it up as yet another character-building experience. I did both; ultimately settling on the decision that I would walk some 20km home because I was too cheap to pay for a cab. The fellas incorrectly assumed that I had the foresight to make it home like a normal person in 1 smooth transaction. To be fair, I think I told them I loved them and wished them farewell like a soldier about to go to war.
This journey home was a disaster from the get-go. Without any brain in my head, I walked in the opposite direction for a good half hour. The weather abruptly changed from a hot summer evening to thunder and lightning. Still blacked out, there was no thought in my mind to call a cab as like my inebriated state – this too shall pass – It didn’t – It actually got so bad that the events that transpired shortly afterword seemed like a rational response given the circumstances. Completely drenched from this rainstorm I sought shelter at any place that would have me. Without a fast-food restaurant or corner store insight, I finally reached what I thought was my saving grace. A dimly lit building that had its front door propped open was calling my name. For a brief moment, I was safe.
The next thing I know, I’m awoken to the sounds of footsteps and welcoming greetings from a number of voices. Where am I? Why am I only in my boxers? Where are the rest of my clothes? Where are these harmonic piano organ sounds coming from? These were the questions I was asking myself. Upon slightly returning to reality, I realized I had in fact, blacked out and passed out in a church.
From this point onward – I was a video game character trying to beat an impossible mission. Still drunk, I attempt to gather my clothes, which are drying, on a window seal in the room that people have come to gather. I was hiding in the shadows like Golem from Lord of the Rings waiting to get my $10 Bluenotes t-shirt that was still soaking wet. At the first instance I could, I grabbed the shirt and attempted to make a run for it. I check my phone – 6:30 am – I’ve got work in two hours – I turn to my left and I hear a scream – It’s over, I’m caught red-handed. I’m turned over to the Priest who swiftly calls the police. I can’t recall my excuse as to why I am in a place of worship drunk and in only my boxers but I’m sure it was nonsense. “Is anyone in here with you?” he asks while on the phone with the police. My response:
“Vinny Chase”
You see; I was deep into a binge of Entourage, watching episode after episode prior to this incident. I don’t exactly know why I ratted out Vinny Chase for passing out in a church with me but I apologize to him – he was definitely not involved. The Priest had obviously not seen the show as he repeated to the officers on the phone that Mr. Chase was with me that evening. The officers who responded to the call must have thought, as I was never questioned about the whereabouts of Vinny Chase when they arrived. They did, however; advise me that before questioning me about the incident, I should put my clothes on.
Upon realizing that there was neither any damaged nor stolen property; all parties were forced to come to the conclusion that this was simply a case of a fella who lost his way (literally and apparently figuratively). I told the officers that I had work in a few hours to which they responded, “I hope you’re not driving”. I assumed at this point they would have enough mercy on me that I could bum a ride home from them but they declined. Only at this point did I come to the conclusion it was probably best I call a cab. As I waited for the cab, church go-ers started arriving for Sunday morning mass and it became apparent from the looks I was getting that word had got around. Rejection hits different when it comes from your own religious establishment. In any event, I had to go to work – not because of my contractual obligations to my employer – but because I had to pay off another public intoxication ticket. Unfortunately, not even Vinny Chase could save me from that one.
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