When I woke up this morning, I was not in good shape. I was laying on the floor of my new bedroom, because I have yet to acquire any furniture. To make matters worse, I had the familiar post boozefest headache and I was Ethiopian child levels of hungry. What was unfamiliar was the scratches and the soreness that took over the rest of my body.
I managed to get myself to my feet and walk out into the living room. My brother Jesse was sitting and the living room, and it didn't take long for him to notice that I wasn't up to par.
"What the hell happened to you last night?" He asked. I looked at him for a second and let the question register. My body ached, and I was very grumpy. That being said, I never turn down a chance to tell a wild story. You see, the last thing he knew was I was leaving our buddy Josh's house for a night out with friends from work. Was he ever in for a treat.
"Oh buddy, last night was fuckin wild..."
You see it started like many drunken evenings. The plan
was to get my drink on at Oscars. I cleaned up real nice, like I do, so I could look good for the ladies. I had a nice new t shirt on, that made me look like I had some muscles, nice jeans and my brothers leather jacket (the one I had left at Oscars back in December, the first night I got kicked out. This becomes a key plot point, so file that one under "important"). After I gave myself the stamp of approval, I went out and met up with a group of friends, in this case some people I know from work (most of whom will remain nameless).
Now with this group, I'm a baby. They let me hang around, because I tickle them with my stories of immaturity and drunken mischief. So whenever I get the chance to show them I'm not lying, I tend to capitalize. That being said, I wanted to show off a bit and prove that I can hang with the older crowd. So instead of ordering my go to drink of Jack and Coke, I decided to kick it up a notch and order 151 and cokes.
Quick side bar: My friends and I have nicknames for lots of things. Girls, activities, and drinks to name a few hardly ever are referred to by their christian names. For example, Bacardi 151 is known simply as the devils piss. It's an evil drink, and tastes like piss. Not that creative of a nickname, but a nickname none the less.
Anywho, so I'm off slamming devils piss and coke. I'm trying to keep it at a manageable level of drunkenhood. However, my subconcious desire to entertain my coworkers and lack of experience with 151 made it hard to control. Eventually I passed the drunk level of making good decisions, and start slamming beers by the plenty. Right about the time when I need to start hiding from the owner of Oscars so I don't get kicked out(we're at two times and counting), Chase comes to me with the idea of more beer and video games at his place. This sounds good to me. I love drunken Madden.
So we hop in Chases G-Ride, buy more beer and head towards the house. We get there, and begin the fun. I slam my first beer and start working on another one. ***QUICK STATUS UPDATE: at this point in the story, I'm very, very drunk.*** About half way through the second beer I step outside to see what was going on with everyone. After a moment I realized I was being stupid for being outside with out a coat on in mid february.
Thats when the horrorible realization hit me-again. I LEFT MY BROTHERS COAT AT OSCARS-AGAIN!!!!!
Again, let me restate that I'm shit house drunk. I started to panic when I realized my phone was dead, ' oh damn, now what am I supposed to do?' (thinking back sober, I realized that EVERYONE has a cell phone and I could've borrowed one). So I did the most logical thing I could....I started to run. Yes, like really run. Like Forrest Gump run. Oh yeah, I ran, despite the fact that I had no idea where I was. What can I say? I was drunk I have no patience for details no matter the size.
After about 15 minutes of running (again remember, I'm drunk not to mention out of shape. It really could've been 3 minutes), I finally found my first landmark. Andreson and 500. Great, I'm like Light Years away from the bar. Do you think I let that discourage me? SHIIIIIIIIT no. I kept running (well now I was power walking).
Another quick side note: I had my I-Pod on me for whatever reason. Checking the time at this point, my I-Pod told me it was roughly mid-night. For those of you not familiar with Washington and Oregon bar standards, this gave me roughly 2 and half hours. I was going to need every one of those minutes.
The next thing I know I'm sprinting across this field. I remember seeing this mighty blue light off in the distance that convinced me it was Wal-Mart, which is near Oscars. So I begin to run that direction.
I hope you don't fault me when I say that alot of the details over the course of my adventure are blurry, but thats the truth. I don't remember too many specifics, especially in the beginning. But I do remember hopping multiple fences. I do in fact one in particular. I started to climb up this fence, a chain link with no top bar, so by the time I got to the top, my weight had made the fence bend completely over flipping me off. Lucky for me, the spikey top of the fence stabbed into the back of my leg, causing me to NOT hit the ground below. Un lucky for me, I now had a chain link fence inside my leg, causing me to be stuck. I had to stab my hands on the fence to flip myself off.
Now, I know this is a true event and not just a drunken thought because of the melon sized bruise surrounding a vicious gash on the back of my leg in the hamstring area. Also, there were to pencil sized stab wounds on the palms of my hands.
The next thing I remember is coming to a thorn bush about the time that it starts to piss rain on me. Now I try to go over the bush, but couldn't find a way to do it. No way I was going to let a pussy thorn bush delay my efforts. So I dropped to the ground and crawled under the bitch. I know this is true because my cloths were dirty the next day and my back looked like I had angry drunk sex with Lady Death Strike of Xmen fame(The picture right below).
I finally made it to the source of the blue light that I mentioned a few paragraphs ago. Sadly it was not Wal-Mart, rather from a hotel close to the mall. I couldn't allow that to frustrate me, I was on a time crunch. So I back tracked, and after a minute or two, I was on the wrong side of 205.
I know what you're thinking. Dude, no way you're dumb enough to cross a freeway at 1:00 in the morning in the rain and dark. Sadly, I was that dumb. Not only did I cross it, but I sprinted like it like Boarder Patrol was hot on my trail.
After hoping a few backyards, I finally found myself on a street I recognized. 28th and Burton. I stood across the street from the Arco, I knew Oscars was at the top of the hill that I stood at the base of. I had began to sober up a bit, and started to take stock of the damage to my body. I was bleeding, wet, and had a half hour to get up the hill.
But wait, Arco's have phones! I figured I could just call Jesse and have him come get me! So I ran into the Arco. There was some foreign dude working behind the counter. I usually tell this part of the story with an Arab accent, so lets keep with the trend.
"Yo, dude, can I use your phone?" I asked. Let me paint how I looked to this guy. I'm wearing a white tshirt, and I'm soaked. I'm bleeding and dirty. I'm panting like I just got done running the Boston Marathon on fire. Surely he would let me use the phone.
"You call 9-1-1?" He asked. This confused me. No, I thought. This was not an emergency yet. So why would I call 911?
"No."
"You call 4-1-1?" I'm really sure what the hell that is, but I think it's information. Again, no, I know Jesse's number. In fact, he is really the only number I DO know off the top of my head.
"No, I know the number I need to call"
"Well then you don't use phone." WHAT THE HELL!?!?!? Was this dude serious? I look like I just got sodomized by a Raptor and he won't let me use the phone?
I turned and ran out of the store. I had no time to call him mean names. I had to get to Oscars and that clock was tick-tocking it's way to closing time. I tried to run up the hill. Then I remember two things. One, I'm out of shape. Two, hills are not meant to be ran up by someone who had been drinking. It didn't take long before I put the kabosh to running, and converted to a hasty walk. Also, this is when I tried something for the first time-yes at 2:00 am in the morning in the rain, with blood running down my arm, I begin to attempt hitch hiking.
ALCOHOL IS THE DEVIL.
After twenty or so minutes of this, a van finally pulled over. When the window rolled down, I instantly got bitch slapped by a pillar of cigerette smoke. Inside the fan, I could see three people. Two teenaged dudes, and an older chick.
"You wanta ride?" she said in a strong white trash accent. I do not condone hitch hiking. In fact, I think it's kind of dangerous. Especially in the situation I found myself in. Again, I was not making good decisions that night. I've seen horror movies start out like that. Sure they seem nice when the pick up the skinny white kid who is drunk and bleeding at 2 am. But it doesn't take long before they knock you out, cut you open, and harvest your organs. Getting Jesse's coat was worth the risk, so I agreed to get into the van.
As soon as I got into the van, a dog lunged at me from the front seat and bit me in the back. I'll repeat just in case that doesn't sound right. A dog, was up in the front seat in the lap of one of the previously mentioned teenagers. When I got in the fan, the little shit jumped at me, and bit me right in the back. And yes, it hurt like a bitch.
Lucky for me, the dog was restrained and the white trash van was actually headed to the Oscars area. Apparently, they lived behind the bar. I know, go figure.
Well when they dropped me off the lights were off. I ran up to the window to see if I could see anyone in there. Lucky for me, there were still a few people in there. I begin to knock like a crazy person on the windows, trying to get their attention.
A bouncer came to the window and lipped 'we're closed, go away' to me. To which I replied, with hand motions, 'I know, and I'm cold as shit', And 'You have have my coat.' He knew exactly what I was talking about. Within the minute all the bar tenders and bouncers from the night came out and gave me back my coat. They also threatened to not give it back next time (apparently they remembered me from the first time).
So I got the coat back, oh and a cute bartender with huge tits took me home. She warned me about raping her, informing me that everyone was seeing me getting into her car. I informed her right back that she can't rape me, because everyone saw me get into her car. I thought I was very clever.
Unfortunately no consensual (or unconsensual for that matter) sexual intercourse took place that night. Fortunately, I did end up home alive and with coat.
After I finished the story, Jesse just sat there with a look of disgust on his face. He called me a dumbass, and suggested that I never wear his coat again. I agreed, knowing full well that I was going to wear it later that day.
I smiled as I hoped in the shower that day. I was moving with the flexibillity of an 80 year old man, and I had a crippling headache. I didn't care. Last night I lived a real life version of Harold Kumar. I hung myself on a fence, traveled all over Vancouver, hitch hiked and got bit by a dog. The story even had a happy ending, I mean I ended up home and I got the coat back (not to mention the fact that I didn't get raped).
AND I STILL HAVE BOTH MY KIDNEYS.
No comments:
Post a Comment