Drinking Story: Half a Handle night

One of the great things about college is the fact that binge drinking rarely leads to interventions. It's almost expected that, as a residential student, you will get ridiculously drunk about five times a semester. This is about one of those five times, and I went above and beyond ridiculously drunk into the realm of completely shitfaced.

It's the end of my first semester, sophomore year. Most of my friends are living in suites in Bryan Hall. I am still living in a regular room over in Milner. The weekend before finals started, I had left about six beers in one suite, figuring that my friends wouldn't drink them because I always hang out over there. I finish my finals, and go to their suite, and find out that they drank my beer. I am less than thrilled, as I needed what little money I had left for the trip back to NJ.

Since those guys were on my shit list for the night, I decide to amble over to another suite. My friends there were much more hospitable that night. In fact, someone had left about half a handle of Aristocrat rum (I only drink the good stuff) in their suite, and everyone there had more than enough booze. I jump around giddily, and run downstairs to the vending machines to stock up on Coke.

We had just been given 44oz water bottles at a finals study break, and I felt it was the perfect receptacle. I just start dumping in rum and Coke. The night seems to be going fairly quietly, as some people still had finals to take and such. I just keep pouring myself drinks, and hitting up the occasional shot.

I finish off another drink, and go to pour myself another. Problem: the bottle is empty. Big problem: It had close to a liter in it when I started. I begin to ask around frantically, to see if anyone else has been drinking the rum, like I hope. No such luck. One guy admits to doing two shots with me, but two shots isn't going to save me at this point. I stumble out into the common room of my friends' suite. My last conscious memory is sitting on the couch in their suite, telling my friend Don that "I am fucking wrecked."

Fast forward to the next morning. I say that, because that's pretty much the way I recall things happening. One moment, I'm sitting on a couch in Bryan, the next moment I'm lying in my bed in Milner. I have no clue how I made it home. My head is absolutely pounding, and my stomach is still doing cartwheels. My roommate is gone, taking a final, so I have no clue what happened to me from about midnight until 11am. Time for my own damage assessment.

The trash can is next to my bed. There is a big pile of paper towels next to the sink. Not a comforting sign. There was a box of Oreos on my desk that was definitely not there when I went out. I am beginning to worry that I went grocery shopping last night. There is a delivery container filled with chicken wing bones at the trash can by the desks. I get pissed at my roommate for ordering wings when I left.

After looking around the room for about 15 minutes, I muster the strength to sit up. That doesn't make my head happy, so I lie back down for another 20 minutes. I sit back up, and check my messages. I have a voice mail from my (then) girlfriend, wanting to know what had happened to me last night. I do not miss the irony of the situation. I make it to my desk, and try to see if she's online. She's taking a final, too. I still have no clue what happened to me last night.

I go to the bathroom to take a shower. As I walk in to the bathroom, I notice that the stall directly opposite the door to the bathroom, which is right across the hallway from my room, is covered in TP. To this day, I am not sure if I am responsible for that or not. When I get out of the shower, my girl is back online. She informs me that I spent a good thirty minutes attempting to hold a conversation with her on instant messenger, and then abruptly signed off. Hence the phone call. One small piece of the puzzle solved. She can't explain the Oreos, though.

My roommate Dan comes back, and proceeds to bust out laughing. He is happy that I cleaned up my puke, and tells me exactly what happened. Well, the part after I made it back to Milner. We spent a good deal of the night running up and down the hallway acting like retards. I got hungry (when I get drunk I get the munch like a stoner), and Dan told me that there was leftovers from the "welcome the new RA" party that our floor had. We stole the chicken wings and Oreos from there. So that allayed my worry that I had wound up off-campus somehow.

I'm not really sure if there's a point to this story, or if it's even that funny. Whatever.