The Bouncer Line
It’s 11:07pm, and there’s only a few people in front of you in the line where the bouncer is checking IDs. You’re fully twenty-one, so there’s no longer any stress about whether or not the $60 piece of Chinese plastic that says you’re a twenty-four-year-old from Mississippi is going to make it past whatever scanner the bouncer is using. Still, though, the seven Naturdays you killed before leaving are taking enough of a toll on your brain that if for some reason this creatine filled bald man that’s going to take your ID asks you anything about where you’re from, what year you graduated high school, or any general information pertaining to who you are as a human being, you’d be unable to answer it. This fear comes with the realization that the bouncer would have every justification to tell you to fuck off. The quick decision to simply not speak and hand over your license gets you in with zero issues, showing that you had nothing to worry about, but the minute that you spent shitting your pants at the thought of getting denied from a bar despite being of legal age earns you the three shots of tequila you order upon entry.
No Hands Raised
It’s 9:17am on a Friday, and despite the fact that more than half or your class is still in bed, hungover from the night before, this professor is drilling the rest of the class as revenge for the kids that aren’t there. Now, you’re just as hungover as the kids skipping class, but you don’t have any skips left, which means that even though you’re physically there, you’re just trying to make it to the end of class. That’s when this asshole asks a doozy of a question that no one, even with eight hours of sleep and no Long Island remnants swimming around their insides, would be able to answer. Immediately, there’s a palpable tension throughout the classroom, and you start to sweat because not a single person is ready to answer, and this dude is pissed. You know that there’s really nothing bad that can happen from nobody answering this question, but your mind starts to race with the possibility of being kicked out of his class, your major, and eventually college. The second you walk out of the class, you realize that jagwagon has no business getting all worked up over that nonsense, so you grab a McChicken, go home, and take a well-deserved nap.
Getting Handed the TV Remote
There’s food on the table, some of your closest friends around you, so much intoxication in the room that the only thing anyone wants is mind-numbing television that will send you into uncontrollable fits of laughter. That’s when you get handed the remote, and all of the pressure now falls on you. The people want to be entertained, but you’re now feeling the overwhelming amount of stress that comes with being put in charge of the group’s happiness for the next couple hours. You could play the safe route, head over to It’s Always Sunny or South Park, but you start to worry that everyone wants something new. Have they seen Nathan for You? Maybe a YouTube video? Tough call. Movie? Fuck. Whatever you choose ends up not mattering because no one is in the mindset to have any real opinions on what’s being played, but Jesus, you put more though into this decision than your college essay.