By definition day drinking, or extended bar drinking is a marathon not a sprint. Once you’re trashed there really isn’t much coming back from it until the next morning unless you are truly seeking a B.S. with a Minor in Alcoholism. Thursdays in a college town are a great place to truly test your ability to punish your liver and this past Thursday is a night that pretty much only rivals last night and New Years Eve.
Bar Number One
11:00am – At large State Schools attendance is often taken in large classes by having students swipe their student ID to prove they are who they say they are and that they are there on time. My best friend and I pulled the good old swipe and dash, got some cheap Chinese carry out, and headed for our favorite bar (cheap, strong drinks, off the beaten path, rarely anyone within 10 years of our own age. $16, 2 drinks a piece, and and hour later we were bordering on stumbling and ready for our afternoon of easy A blow off classes.
Bar Number Two
8:00pm – The bar that was never suppose to happen. We had a fight that afternoon in which I was determined to hold a grudge until the day I died, however when you are best friends you eventually have to have that heart to heart where you realize sometimes one of you was holding back and the other was just being a bitch; cue meeting up at the bar we had seen at lunch. $16, 2-3 more drinks a piece, and two hours later and it was time to move onto a bar with weaker drinks and more people our own age.
Bar Number Three
10:30pm – Two is company, three is a crowd, and being joined by unexpected company means pretending to be sober, drinking slowly, and hoping they don’t question your current appearance as a light weight. $10, 1 drink, over priced french fries, and 3 gifted shots later it was time to find a bed.
The First Ride Home
11:30pm – I got into my friends apartment and made a beeline for his roommates bedroom to beg for a ride home. I collapsed on the floor. I sufficiently made it to his car but never got inside, because hanging off of the driver’s side door while impaling myself on the mirror and refusing to let him start the car sounded like a great idea. My best friend then decided maybe he needed to make sure I didn’t just make it to my apartment, but in the front door.
12:00am – I make it to my bed eventually but not without trying to cuddle with a bottle of Chardonay I had found in the fridge. I spent 5 minutes attempting to pull the cork from the bottle with my bare hands while whining about needing something to take my medicine with before I went to sleep. My best friend made the wise decision to remove the wine from my immediate reach and hand me a Shasta instead (because when you are a broke college student your fridge consists of nothing but 6 bottles of $3 wine from the Georgia road trip and 2 cans of Shasta).
12:30am – My ability to text has made it’s way back from gibberish to coherent sentences, I’m feeling painfully sober, and I am calling my best friend begging to head back to the bar. Within 5 minutes I am back in the clothes I had been wearing and sitting in the front seat of a truck.
Bar Number Four
1:00am – The bartender is able to make our favorite drink without us giving him special instructions. We start making friends with random guys in the bar. I start gathering phone numbers from random people I will never call. We stay until last call. For the first time in my life I shut down a bar.