Everyone has drunk stories about a time they got wasted and had to piece together what happened via what your friends tell you. Granted, I rarely drink and even then it’s a one mixed drink and I’m good ordeal. It is this fact that makes me the ultimate Designated Driver for my husband, friends and family. One of the best moments with my now husband, was back in the days where we were just dating and had moved in together.
“Hello?” It wasn’t a number I recognized as I answered my cell phone at 2 am in the morning.
“Valerie?” It was a female voice, I was expecting Justin to call when he was ready to go home.
“This is she?” I sat out of bed at this point, starting to worry. “How can I help you?”
“This is Tracy, Justin’s cousin at the bar.” Now I can hear Justin yelling how much he loves me in the background. “He’s gonna need a ride home…”
“No problem, I dropped him off anyhow so I’ll be right there.” Hanging up, I pretty much decided to just go in my pajamas.
Walking into the bar, the lights were on and besides the other employees closing up, Justin and his friend were still sitting at the bar top. He was super drunk, beyond what I had previously experienced. As I walked up, he slurred “I love you” but his friend was furrowing his brow.
“I’m so sorry, Val. I gave him Sambuca not realizing he’s never had it before… he’s had like 2 rocks glasses and a shot on top of beer and jager bombs.” I cringed, knowing that this was going to be a long morning per say.
We managed to get him into the backseat of the big old green Chevrolet. As I began to take his friend home, he reached out between us from the back and ripped off his scanner from the window. Apparently it was obscuring his view of the ride. Regardless, I dropped his friend off and Justin moved to the front passenger seat. As we made it halfway home he turns to me, a drunken smile on his reddened face.
“I hope Chris got home ok…”
I gave him a bewildered look. “We just dropped him off!”
“Oh, ok then he got home ok…” He laughed and flopped back to the window.
I pulled into the driveway and realized that I had another obstacle before me: How in the hell was I gonna get him in the house? I told him to stay, opening the front gate, the front door and clearing a path for the task. As I started to walk back, I could see him opening the car door and wobbling out to his feet. He took one step, started to slowly lean forward, which prompted a highly unstable drunken run into the main support pole for the fence. He was sprung backwards, flat on his back where he laughed and laughed. Helping him to his feet, we stumbled to the house and I let him fall to the bed as I closed doors, gates, and pulled his shoes off. Fearing other nightly accidents, I moved to the couch.
The sun had barely peeked over the horizon when a still slightly drunk Justin shook me awake in alarm.
“Why are you on the couch!” His eyes were wide, fearing the worse. “Did I do something wrong?”
“You probably pissed the bed!” I huffed.
Like a small child, he ran back to the bedroom where I heard him shout, “Oh man! I did!”
After a few minutes I realized he had fell silent, so I peeked into the bedroom to see he had burritoed himself in the “wet” blanket and passed out on the floor. Laughing, I left him to it and went back to sleep.
A few more hours passed and I woke to a distraught Justin, “Ugh!”
He was more sober now, realizing he had made himself into a smelly burrito, he started to clean things up. I simply remained quiet as I watched the activity from the couch and then he entered the bathroom. Within seconds he came flying out, naked with the biggest red mark going down his body.
“What the hell is this?!” He was panicking.
“That’s where you hit the fence.” I had tears in my eyes as I giggled.
We can safely say he has not hit Sambuca this hard, nor gotten this drunk ever again.
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