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If you asked ten random drunk people on the street in any major college town they would probably all say drunk food was the best part of the night. Unless they’re already on the express blackout train to Poundtown, then they might say “sex” or “a blowjob” or nothing at all, because the intricacies of human speech now escape them. The point is, drunk food is a staple of any drunk night, because something deep within our drunken lizard brains tells us the only things we need are sleep, food, and sex. But not necessarily in that order; restaurants only stay open so late, but the slam and sleep situations can be remedied any time after the bars close.
With that being said, I think it goes to show exactly where your brain is when you pick your drunk food. You might go for what’s close or convenient when you’re so done that likely sleeping arrangements for the night include face first in a bar urinal. On the flip side, if it was an easier night, you might actually make an effort to get real food like a real person.
Pizza: The Easy Go-To
This one is the every man’s drunk food. Show me a guy or girl who doesn’t like pizza, and I’ll show a person that is either severely lactose intolerant or hates everything this country holds dear. I suppose it could be both, but that seems pretty unlikely since even people that don’t like cheese like pizza. I know. I’m one of those blasphemous abominations.
Getting back to the point, pizza parlors are everywhere. You can’t stumble down a sidewalk without hitting one or five. They’re all almost certainly shitty, unless you have a Jumbo Slice or something like that. They do get the job done though. You go in, you get food, you go home.
If you’re having pizza, you probably had a night that would be pretty much normal for a weekend out on the town, or a moderate night out on a weekday. Nothing crazy happened, and you might have even found someone to go home with. This could easily change if your order was two or three pizzas for yourself. That means you probably went too hard but were functional enough to order pizzas. Still, congrats. You survived your night, dignity mostly in tact.
Chinese Food: Bad Decisions In A Takeout Box
Chinese food is never bought on a night when you’re operating at peak mental function. This is probably because the kind of Chinese food places around you are also the kinds of places where people might insinuate that stray cats and dogs tend to check in and never check out. If you’ve got one of them, be careful what you order. “General Tso’s Lost Frathound” is probably not what you want to end your night with.
If you find yourself sitting down waiting for your 3lb box of MSG, noodles and shame at a college Chinese restaurant, your night probably started with
a bottle of surface clean nine dollar vodka and went south from there. No matter how perfect your combination of alcohol, costumes, and mixers, your night was doomed from the start. You almost certainly remember some of it, but not enough to tell yourself on the way out the door that Chinese food was the worst idea you’ve had in months. The next morning will be a bit painful, but certainly not a weekend-breaker. If you’re lucky, you convinced the girl you were dancing with to get food with you. Good idea or not, in that case you probably got laid too, though no guarantee you will be happy with that move in the morning.
Much like the contents of the box you ordered, nights ending in a Chinese food run are often mysteries, filled with questions that will be left unanswered for years to come. Why did you wander down the street, carrying a girl in neon pink spandex, making only cat noises? The world may never know.
A Sit-down Restaurant: Fine Dining, Face Down
Very few of these are actually open when a night ends. Usually, you’re talking the local diner, or the local place truckers stop with the bathroom that Jigsaw would be disgusted by. Both of them are the kind of places you head after a rough night. For example, the kind of night where you punch through a telephone pole, break your hand, and knockout power to the entire neighborhood. The food is always disappointing, but at least it’s still edible. Technically. You think. The health inspector might have shut this place down eons ago, if it was open when health inspectors actually inspected things. These places operate in a weird restaurant Twilight Zone, where the rules of the real world don’t apply. It’s basically a like Narnia got hammered.
If you’ve made it here, standing is probably an issue for you. You can’t spell stand at this point, let alone actually do it. You will be 900% more likely to eat using only your face as you attempt to nap in or on your food and the table. You fought a good fight, but this is the late night hilltop grill you’ve picked to die on, at least until the staff kicks you out at closing around 4:30 AM and your buddies drag you back to the house. Most likely, you’ll wake up to greet the next evening after sleeping off a hangover you might compare to a bad acid trip in an active warzone.
A Breakfast Place: Raging From Dusk ‘Til Dawn
Your night has ended back at a house, it just isn’t your house. It’s a house of pancakes. International or otherwise, you’ve conquered the night like the Spanish conquered South America. It was a long, brutal campaign, but there were no casualties on your side. The food will be pancakes, because who goes to a breakfast place and doesn’t get pancakes? If you’re in the SEC, it might be grits and sausage gravy as well, because you decided your body needs more punishment than a 12 hour bender can reasonably supply.
You probably started early. Energy drinks or some kind of stimulant were almost certainly involved and by night’s end you closed more bars than a super-max prison corrections officer. In the endless expanse of bad decisions that is your school’s town on the weekend, you are king. You probably have already been home with a girl and left before the rest of her house woke up like some kind of sex ninja. Basically, if partying is a game, you just won it. Now, go get some rest, you’ve only got 12 hours before round two.