Sometimes I get blackout drunk. I know I should know my limits and stick to them, but every now and then I forget that and think pounding fifteen Jägerbombs is a good idea. Of all the things that have ever happened to me, one night was by far the most embarrassing. What follows is an account of that night as told to me by my friends and the circumstances in which I woke up.
We were ‘pre-drinking’ at a friend’s house. All I can really remember is looking into my friend’s eye as I laughed and poured two shots of vodka into a pint of cider and downed it. Then everything else is black. Apparently we went to the club and I was ‘slut dropping’ and drunkenly texting a girl who I was seeing at the time. We’ll call her Susan. Then we danced and drank more. I don’t know if this is true but my friends told me I downed eight shots of Sambuca while people at the bar cheered. That could be bullshit.
Finally Susan came out and we were dancing and kissing. She was very drunk as well and according to onlookers we looked absolutely disgusting as we ate each other’s faces. Sometimes when I’m drunk I lose all awareness of my surroundings and I seemed to think we were in her bedroom because I was really ‘going for it’ (as my friend put it). Apparently I was begging her to take me back to hers (pathetic, I know) and after a few more drinks she agreed and we stumbled off into the night.
To properly understand how it felt waking up let me describe what I felt and thought. The first thing was, “Where the hell am I?” And the second, “What is that sticky feeling around my legs?” I had no clue where I was. I didn’t remember the club. I didn’t remember seeing Susan. I was still a bit drunk, but I was aware that Susan was carrying her sheets out of the room and looked rather annoyed. That confused me until I looked down. My legs were sticky and there was an odd smell. I had pooed myself in her bed.
She poked her head in the door and said, “I’m going for breakfast. I’ll be back in half an hour.” We both knew this was her way of giving me a chance to clean up. I used her bathroom and showered the poo off my legs. It had crusted by now so it took a damned long time. Then I scrunched my underwear up, put it in the bin and put on my jeans without them.
I wanted to run away then, but I had no idea where I was. I didn’t even know how to get out of the building. So I waited for Susan to return. She didn’t say anything and just sat down at her desk and started doing some drawings for her art coursework.
After that we watched a film – all the while knowing how disgusting the situation was but never addressing it – and then I left. It was only when I was home I realised I had no idea where my phone was. I had my bus pass and keys but not my phone. To this day I don’t know what annoys me more: pooing the bed or having to buy a new phone.
Anyone else got an embarrassing drunk story with the courage to let it out? Comment below!