Alex Becker
8:13 P.M: You wake up from your ordinary Saturday afternoon nap feeling a bit bloated from your seven morning beers. Still a tad groggy, you stay in bed secretly hoping all of your friends decide not to go out tonight.
8:47 P.M: A text from your roommate. It reads “girls coming over to pg at 10.” Fuck that. You get off TateTok after learning how to be Top G for the past half hour and roll out of bed.
8:48 P.M: Beer shits
8:54 P.M: Shower
8:57 P.M: As you’re changing you realize you haven’t done laundry in over three weeks, so you squeeze into the one pair of jeans you have left and throw on the same t-shirt you took your three hour nap in hoping it doesn’t smell like your sheets. It would suck if you smelled like stale doritos and body lotion all night long.
9:04 P.M: You need to eat before going out for the night so you check the refrigerator. All that’s left is a can of tuna, a carton of eggs, and a case of beer. Good enough. Limited cooking and mad gains. You grab one of each.
9:32 P.M: After scarfing down your tuna omelette that paired surprisingly well with your 22-day aged Bud Light, you decide to brush your teeth. Not because the fishy egg aftertaste bothers you, but purely as a confidence boost that getting with a girl tonight, though highly unlikely, is technically possible.
9:33 P.M: Start the boys only pregame. Despite the name, girls are allowed entrance they just choose not to. This is the part of the night where someone blasts Chief Keef as everyone talks about how hard they’re going to black. The single guys in the friend group will all circle up and hype each other up about bringing girls back, while the cuffed squad all admit to each other that they don’t “need” to go out and plan the late night Don’s run.
10:07 P.M: Girls arrive, bringing no alcohol and a ton of energy. Too much energy. You hug and act excited to see everyone, only to drunkenly introduce yourself to them later at the bar.
10:24 P.M: You have extinguished all social engagement you are capable of for the time being. Either everyone you like here is talking to someone you don’t know or the two of you have already exhausted all topics of conversation. That means you are only left with one option: get shitfaced. You pour yourself a cup full of vodka in hopes that it will turn you into the social butterfly you secretly keep deep down in your broken liver. Over the course of the next 40 minutes you take about 3-4 massive gulps until you finish that cup. Each sip makes you want to lie down in front of oncoming traffic, but you power through knowing it’s either that or awkwardly standing in the corner of the bar until someone else says they’re heading out.
11:08 P.M: One person calls an Uber to the bar. Everyone acts as if they have a spot in the car that seats four people and goes downstairs. The car arrives and everyone acts shocked as if this Uber driver just caused a huge inconvenience. Four people go as the rest call two more Ubers hoping it’s enough, yet not entirely sure.
11:27 P.M: Arrive at the bar. There is a huge line. Again, you act surprised and upset as if this problem only happens to you. After a failed cutting attempt, you join the back of the line.
12:02 A.M: You enter the bar and immediately begin to sweat. You use your Myles Garrett swim moves to squeeze past the hoards of people and make it to the bar. There you find that friend you haven’t spoken to since sophomore year and decide it’s the perfect time to catch up as he is talking to the bartender. You shout “rum and coke” at the bartender as if it’s part of your friend’s tab so he messes up and charges him for it. Your friend notices the mistake, prompting you to say “I got your next drink,” slap him on the shoulder, and vanish like Amelia Earhart.
12:48 A.M: Two more drinks later, you are finally feeling confident. All of sudden, Breaking Free from High School Musical comes on. This is your jam. You rush through the crowd of people, shoving anyone in your way until you find that one other person you know for a fact knows all the words to this song. The two of you make a scene, and while you absolutely killed Gabrielle’s portion, people around you seem annoyed. You notice spilled drinks all over the floor and look around for who was so careless to drop all of their glasses straight on the ground. You can’t find who did it, so you go back up to the bar for a celebratory drink.
1:31 A.M: Covered in sweat, speaking in tongues, barely able to stand unless leaning against a wall, you have a screaming conversation with that dude from your econ class that sits next to you, but you never speak to. You learn his name is Neil and he is actually a super cool dude. Are you going to say hi next time you see him on Monday? Of course not, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve a bearhug goodbye. That would just be rude.
2:11 A.M: Things are getting fuzzy. Not like you can’t remember anything, that will come in the morning, but more like your vision is physically fuzzy. Focusing really hard on the blur, you manage to find your friend and stumble up to them. They were just on their way out, how perfect! You put your arm around them to stay vertical and exit the bar, sincerely thanking the bouncer for a fabulous evening.
2:44 A.M: It’s unclear how you got here, but you’ve made it to Domino’s. Why are you waiting for a full pizza to be made rather than just ordering one for delivery? Not sure, but it would be dumb to leave now. You get your pepperoni and BBQ sauce pizza and begin your descent home.
3:13: A.M: Arrive home. The pizza box is empty, but you know you only ate two slices. That’s a mystery for tomorrow. Right now, it’s time to rip that bong you haven’t cleaned in seven years. Will it make you blow chunks? You sure hope not.
3:15 A.M: It did. You blew chunks hard.
3:22 A.M: You crawl into bed with sneakers on and your teeth not brushed. Shut your eyes, breathe through your mouth, and hang on tight to the wall to stop your spinning. The signs of a perfect night out.
