Everyone who has had any kind of night that involves getting cut off from the bar, cutting yourself off, or taking a shot after one of the first two happened knows about the infamous morning after quote, “I will never drink alcohol again.” Almost from the first time anyone drinks, they have that moment where they wake up in the bowels of Hell, cursing the gods, and vowing to never again drink that awful liquid they call alcohol. For normal people, that happens once or twice when they first start drinking and they learn the lesson that hard drinking taught them. For me, it’s happened twice, and once was last weekend.

Everybody has a first

When I was 13 I hung out with a few kids my age and a few kids that were much older than me at my lake house. One night the older kids, who were between 16 and 20, were drinking around a fire pit. My friend Matt and I decided to wander back and see if they would let us hang out with them. The parents were all asleep and they decided that it was cool. It was finally time to initiate us into the drinking world. Of course, them being much older, they decided to get us hammered drunk.

We started out with a beer or two each, laughing and joking with everyone. We even dropped a piece of plywood into the middle of the fire and were doing skateboarding tricks through it. That awesomeness ended when somebody fell and knocked the board into the fire. Instead of getting it out, the owner just said “Fuck it” and we watched it burn. Without much notice, the night turned from beer to rum and vodka, my future friends, but enemies that night. Everything went blurry and it seemed like the people around the fire were mostly laughing at Matt and I. We weren’t really sure why, but decided that something was wrong with gravity and called it a night. This just put us in our own worlds and instead of sitting with friends, we were dealing with the harsh reality of our first overkill drunk. I spent the night crawling around, puking, trying to sleep, figuring out why the room was spinning even when I was laying down, and eventually watching the sun rise while I puked some more. I swore that night that I would never drink alcohol again and wondered why anyone would ever do that to themselves.

Which brings us to last weekend, where that vow obviously hadn’t taken hold. It was my friend Brittany’s 21st birthday and she and some friends were meeting up in Hollywood at some club, where they had a table and bottle service. I showed up late, hoping to avoid the dinner they were at, but ended up meeting them just as they had ordered. I had a few drinks with everyone at dinner. For some reason, in the middle of dinner, we decided to get shots at the bar. These turned into double shots of straight Jack and the night got warmer for some reason. Apparently, Brittany’s dad had gotten us all hotel rooms at the Hilton by Universal Studios and we all headed back there after dinner. There was a bottle of vodka and somehow it disappeared in the 20 minutes we were there. And then there was the taxi ride.

Hollywood shit-show

Brian and I definitely were drinking straight Monster Energy Drinks… while Brittany’s friends Jake sat in the front seat with the driver and slowly tried to convince him that not only was he a gay porn star, but that he was a famous one. He repeatedly asked the driver if he had seen his movies or wanted an autograph and suggested that the autograph was a good idea. Finally, we made it to the club and with a little trouble, we were inside. We drank the established two bottles of vodka in a little under 15 minutes, ordered a third, and finished that before we had been there an hour. At some point, I was in line for the bathroom and applied the trusty “line hover” technique I learned in grocery stores. There were two bathroom doors and two lines. I stood right in between them and pretended to each line like I was standing in theirs. When someone walked out of the right one, I turned that way and was next in line. You’re welcome. I did my usual complain to the line about girls taking so long in the bathroom and generally giving the girls in the line a hard time.

Later on, we all somehow decided that more shots and cigarettes were in order, so we spent the last hour on the outside patio ordering $10 shots and smoking cigarettes in somebody’s reserved cabana that seemed to have been abandoned. Eventually, the bouncers started their mandatory “Get the Fuck OUT!” polite exit speeches and we made our way to cabs. The first one filled up with everyone except Jake and I, so we said we would find our own. We started wandering down the street towards cars for some reason. I walked up the street and decided that a bathroom break was in order. A line of cars in traffic got a show and a parking lot got watered. I walked back down to Jake who was having no luck with taxis and decided a more forward approach was in order. I stepped out into the street and yelled at the taxi driving towards me to stop. I laughed and a few people across the street looked terrified. Luckily, the taxi stopped and was looking to pick people up. Success. We drove back to the hotel and into “one of those scenes.”

As I walked into the room, I could hear female voices either crying or consoling. I looked into the bathroom and Brittany was hovered over the toilet, while her dad’s girlfriend and a few of her friends were trying to help her. I’ve seen that scene before and I know what to do. I stumbled past the bathroom without letting them know I was there. As I entered the main room I saw my friend Dan, Brittany’s boyfriend, passed out absolutely naked on his bed, save for his hand strategically covering his… junk. I laughed for a while and showed the girls, who lightened up. The gravitational problems had hit me hard by this point and I was only then aware of it.

The dreaded morning

When I woke up the next day, everyone was walking around and getting ready. I analyzed my situation. I had passed out on the little end couch in Brittany and Dan’s master bedroom, fully clothed, without pillows or any covering, and drooled on myself a little. At least I was alive. I spent the next hour laying there in pain while mostly everyone got ready and left. I tried standing up twice, only to realize that I was indeed too drunk to stand at 10 in the morning. I waited another hour or so and slowly gained enough sobriety to stand and get ready. Eventually, I was alright on the sober/drunk scale, but pit of Hell sick on the sick/ok scale. I wandered through the hotel lobby with messed up hair, drool on my sleeve, and the worst stomach ache I have had in a while. I started the drive home, got on the Hollywood Freeway, and everything seemed like it would be alright. All I had to do was get home fast.

As I approached the first freeway interchange, I suddenly noticed that I was getting on the 101, which was the wrong freeway. I was mad at myself, but I had done this before at interchanges, so I continued on the wrong freeway and told myself I would get off and turn around. Two miles later I got off at the first exit. I turned around and got back on the 101, happy that I had stayed calm. The problem is that the 101 doesn’t have a ramp to get onto the Hollywood Freeway in the direction I wanted to go. So, I got back on that freeway going back towards our hotel, drove for a mile back to an exit and got off. I spun around under the freeway and realized that there wasn’t an on-ramp for the Hollywood Freeway for 3 more miles. 20 minutes after I got to the interchange the first time, I got onto the right freeway. My head was aching, my stomach was gurgling, and I was cursing to myself “I am never drinking again.”

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Filed under: Stories by Cory