Drinking Story: Cover Band Night

We'll crank the Way Back Machine to September, 2003. I am about four months removed from my college degree, and have been living life wildly irresponsibly. At this stage in life, I'm crashing with five friends while looking for a place of my own.

My alma mater's radio station was sponsoring a cover band show. I had friends playing in about four different bands at this concert, so I'm naturally excited. I'm not sure at what point I decided I was out to get royally shitfaced, but these sorts of things tend to sneak up on me.

So I get off work at about 8pm, and head to the closest bar to wait for my friends to pick me up. They're going to be about half an hour, so I slam back a couple pints of Rolling Rock during the wait. We get back to the house, I throw on some clothes, and we head out to the show. Matt grabs two bottles of beer for the five minute ride. Phil, Matt, and I pass these bottles back and forth pretty quickly. I turn up the rest of the second bottle as we pull into the parking lot.

I had just gotten paid the night before. Me at a bar with money in my bank account is always a bad sign for my account balance and my liver. Me and Phil "warm up" with a Screaming Nazi shot and a beer. And I decide, rather than visiting the ATM, I would prefer to start a tab. To wit, I've just gotten to my destination, the night has barely begun, and I've already knocked back four beers and a shot. I think you can see where this one's headed.

I walk around, talking to my friends there, listening to the bands. The opening act is an acoustic Janet Jackson band, which is amusing because Tim and Eric are funny guys. I continue to drink Rolling Rock like I'm getting paid to do it. Which, folks at Latrobe, would work out great for both of us. Between sets, I find Phil, and we find another round of Screaming Nazis. The next act is a Tom Petty cover band, featuring some of my best friends. I am having an absolute blast, dancing and drinking. The guys were good. Someone threw a pair of panties at Eben. I merely point this out because things are beginning to get hazy, and I start having problems keeping memories from this point on in sequence.

I'm not sure what I did during the next break. A guy I was kind of friends with swears I bought him a beer at this point. Yup, it's one of those nights. The next band is a Bruce Springsteen cover band. And they're really good. And I'm really drunk. I sang myself hoarse, and soothed my throat with more beer. I don't remember if another band came on after that or not. Actually, I don't remember anything else that happened that night. The rest has all been pieced together from various sources.

I wake up the next morning, and my stomach isn't agreeing with me. I bolt downstairs and yuke, marking the first time in my life I have puked the morning after drinking. I make it back to my bed, and realize that I have no recollection of settling my tab. Fortunately, I find my check card in my wallet. Not that there's anything wrong with blacking out at a bar, I'd just hate to be that guy that has to come back to settle up the next day because I was too drunk to remember to do it before I left. I go back to sleep, and wake up close to noon, not knowing what happened to me. Phil is more than willing to bring me up to speed.

Phil says he came up to me, and said that the guy we came with was leaving. I said something to the effect of, "Fuck it, I'm going to Wendy's." Phil naturally assumed that I had found someone to drive me to Wendy's. When they left about 10 minutes later, they find me stumbling through a parking lot, walking to Wendy's. At about 1am. Oh yeah. Aidan stopped to help me in the car, and he says I fell down twice walking to the car. I still think he's bullshitting on that one. I never fall walking on concrete. Whatever. We get home, and Phil says he makes some kind of sausage that I eat ravenously. I'm not sure how to take that. Phil then said he passed out, and I was still watching a movie. I had passed out by the time the rest of my friends got home. So they all said I was rather funny at the bar, but didn't say anything else about what I'd done after I left.

For some reason, I had the nagging urge to call my ex-girlfriend that afternoon. I was rather surprised when she called me. We make small talk, I ask her about her night last night, and am rather surprised to find out that part of her night's activities included talking to me on the phone. I am kind of embarrassed about it at first, and apologize profusely to her. She said it wasn't a big deal. I asked her what we talked about, and she told me she couldn't remember. I tell her that she's got a major step on me, because I don't even remember talking to her in the first place. She tells me I need to stop by her place that afternoon.

My one regret about that night is that I wasn't sober enough to remember what kind of game I ran at my ex, because I need to find that game now.