“Ugh, where am I?” I managed to mumble out of cracked, bloody lips. I looked around through half open eyes, stinging with the rising morning sun.
I now realized that I was being lifted by someone other than my legs. “Who are you, you big, strong man?” I slurred.
“Son, you have two choices,” a man in a crisp, blue uniform gutturally intoned, “You can walk out of here on your own, or I can take you away in my car.”
“Does it have air conditioning?” After all, it was turning out to be a hot morning.
“I think you’d rather pick choice number one,” he immediately advised.
I began stumbling away, not really conscious of where I was. I raised my hand to my mouth, and felt that my lip was split. How did that happen? The last thing I remembered was being at a crazy party in my apartment. How did I get here? Where was here?
After I walked a good five minutes and got far enough away from the 5-0, I stopped to assess my current situation. I realized I was on the beach. It took me a while, but the sand in my shoes and the repetitive crashing of the waves eventually clued me in. Why was I here? I gazed upon an empty beer can half buried in the sand. Oh yeah! I left the party last night because we ran out of beer! It all started coming back to me.
I went out on my beer retrieval mission at about two o’clock in the a.m. In New Jersey where I live, the liquor stores close at 10 p.m., and the bars close at 2 in the morning, so I decided to try and make the bar before it closed to get a few cases. Luckily, the bar was right around the corner. Unluckily, they closed a little early (bar time, don’t you know) and foiled my attempt at furthering my friend’s and my merriment. . .
What happened after this though? My brain was still rattled and confused. I walked up to the main road and realized that I was about 5 miles from my house. How in the world… and then another break in my blackout, the frat house.
I live down the street from a University, and a few doors down from a frat house. (If you are a fraternity brother reading this, screw you, I will call a FRAT a FRAT.) As I walked by the house, I noticed that they were having a huge party. “Wow,” I thought to myself, “I wish I was in there with all that beer.” Then in a drunken epiphany, I realized that I could be there with all that beer. It was just a door away!
I walked around back, cleverly sticking to the shrubbery, and saw the back porch where case after glorious case of golden pilsner were stacked. To my surprise, no one was out there! I slipped up to the screen door, opened it, and slid in. The coast was clear, at least in my inebriated vision, so I hefted four cases and started out the way I came in. The screen opened without a hitch, but for some reason, my feet didn’t cooperate, and I tripped down the two little stairs with a huge crash. Beer cans scattered everywhere. When I stood to run away, the back door of the house burst open and a gang of gorillas swarmed out. None looked too happy to see me and 96 cans of beer scattered all over their back yard.
Well, if you have made it this far in my story, I’m sure you can figure out what happened next. The goons roughed me up pretty good, and to teach me a lesson, made me drink as many of those darn beers as I could. I guess I passed out drinking. I guess they just dumped my sloppy body on the beach.
On my long walk home on that early Sunday morning, I had the realization, “Boy, those were some hard to find beers!”