I was reminded of a story.

Back in my college days, I took a lot of trips to Houston to see my old friends. I knew a lot of people so I always had someone to be around, and I used to drink, but I was almost always designated driver. One night, I said, “Fuck it. We’re calling a cab” and sat myself at the bar to order my second drink.

The well special was something ridiculous like $1.25 a piece so we couldn’t pass it up. I ordered a vodka seven, and it was the strongest, cheapest shit I’d ever tasted. I could hardly taste the 7-Up at all, but it was okay. All that meant was I would have to drink less to get drunk. We sat at the bar, and I ended up having 4 wells, then a shot, then 2 more wells. For good measure, I had one more, then we decided to go to the Backroom for whatever band was playing.

Holy shit. The second I got up, the room started spinning and I remember saying, “Oh no. This is bad.” “No no you’re fine. Just hold my hand.” Whoever it was wasn’t who we came with; it was some douchenozzle fucking around with me. Anyways, we got upstairs, and I plopped down on some leather couch. I curled up in it for a little, then my stomach did a backflip.

I puked all over that sucker.

The bartender brought me a plastic cup of water, which I promptly drank. “You’ll feel better,” he told me. It didn’t. I threw up right into the cup and sat it down on the ground. Then I lied back down on the couch, pulled my jacket over my head and fell asleep. Did I mention a band was playing less than 10 feet away from me?

I finally woke up when it was over. There were wet paper towels next to me. I guess someone tried to clean up my puke and failed. I heard a guy say, “Did you really sleep through that?” “Yeah.” “Lucky.”

I really don’t know how my friends didn’t drink as much as I did. On the way home, we had to stop a few times so I could open the back door and throw up into the street. I was drunk for two days after that.

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