I now present to you, after many long months, one of the most embarrassing nights of my life!
My dear friend Ben met a couple of girls, and had promised to meet them at a dance club later on that evening. The only problem was that I didn't like going to dance clubs, and wasn't a great dancer. Meeting cute girls in strange places doing things I wasn't great at made me nervous as hell!
Ben's response to this was simple: Liquid Courage!
We rushed out to purchase a fifth of Southern Comfort, with the plan to get me just a little tipsy and less nervous. Who knows, maybe even more comfortable dancing!
Operation: 'Dance Machine' hit one nasty snag however, Ben almost killed me! Instead of mixing the SoCo into a drink, we were just doing shot after shot in rapid succession. SoCo isn't the strongest drink out there, but I was young, and not used to drinking much.
Five shots and about twenty minutes later, I swore I didn't feel anything. I complained to Ben that it wasn't working and he upped the ante. We started taking pulls directly off the bottle, and faster.
Finally, with over half the fifth gone, it hit me all at once. I was drunk drunk and sick sick. Still, Ben was determined that we would meet these girls, and he pushed, pulled and carried me out to his truck to drive downtown. He brought the SoCo, for good measure.. Thank goodness.
The second we hit the parking lot, I opened up the door and puked my guts out. After a few gross minutes of that, I stumbled out of the truck. Somehow, I had puked on my shirt, pants and shoes. Luckily, I didn't have any real food in my stomach, so it pretty much smelled exactly like Southern Comfort. (yum) I mumbled something about bad breath to Ben and he whipped out the bottle again, and poured in a liter bottle of Mountain Dew. I drank deeply, rinsing my mouth, and stood up as straight as I could, ready to face the girls.
I staggered up to the door of the club, Ben supporting me with an arm whenever I couldn't make it on my own. When we hit the door, the doorman looked me up and down. With watery drunken eyes, and the the funk of vomit and booze thick on my clothes, I met his eyes.
Him: "Are you drunk? I can't let you in if you're drunk!"
Me: "No way, I'm great!!"
Him: "Ok, head on in."
The second I walked into the club and the music crashed into me I was transformed into a dance machine. I boogied and shimmied my way across the dance floor, tossing Isaac points at each cute young girl that I passed. So great was my abandon that I even stopped to drunkenly grind against a few hapless victims!
Ben, having finally caught up with me, guided me upstairs to meet the girls. He pointed to their table, where they sat staring at the two of us, with strange expressions on their faces. I paused, made strong eye contact with one of the girls, raising an eyebrow dramatically and mosied over to the table.
These tables were your typical tall, small and circular tables found in every dance club like this I've ever been at. Sitting in the middle of the table was a fresh pitcher of beer, sudsy and delicious. They had four glasses out, but hadn't poured yet, and waited expectantly for us.
The second my butt hit that chair, I leaned forward and puked everything(!!) else I had in my stomach (SoCo and Dew at this point) right into the pitcher of beer. I then fell out of my chair onto the ground at everyone's feet.
Ben heroically picked me up and carried me over to the bathrooms - luckily very close - and I staggered into the womens room.
Something about ending up in the land with no urinals was like a smack in the face! I sobered up enough to stand steady and walked right back outside to Ben, who was looking forlornly at the (now vacant) table.
Having puked all the poison out of my system I started feeling better almost immediately, but the night was shot. Coincidentally, my shoes and shirt were also both shot.
This is strangely one of the more memorable nights of my life. And I even think I learned a lesson in there somewhere...