This sort of tradition started the year most of my friends and I turned 21...it was finally time to head out to the bars and see what all the fuss was about. Since we host Thanksgiving dinner at my house every year, I offered my services as driver of a friends' family van. I'm not unlike a sloth with a hangover, and so Thanksgiving morning means I have to be on my A-game. As a result, we would head out and about with a sizable crowd to the bars. Each year has offered similar stories of long-unseen acquaintances from high school and late nights/early mornings returning folks back to their homes.
This year, we had more people than ever having their own homecoming, as they have scattered throughout the United States, and so returning everyone home mainly consisted of returning people to their parents' home ("home base" from here on out). The good news: housewarming party for my buddy Matt, who moved into his own place during the year. The extra good news: no need to hit the bars. The bad news? No concern for public intoxication laws. We had a good crowd, and just about everyone was getting "festive", including a pal who moved south a year or so ago. As a result, the drive home was set to be a memorable. Here we go...
Taking holidays VERY seriously...The second car of people to get a lift home was full of people who were at varying degrees of intoxication. Everyone had been given the ol' "round up" signal (put an index finger up in the air, then rotate your hand clockwise, pointing your finger skyward the entire time. That's it.), which I had assumed means that if you have to use the facilities, get on it before we depart. In any event, we left for the ride home, and I felt confident that we'd make it without incident; key players were already dozing off, so if nothing else, the ride would be quiet.
Wrong. Within a minute- literally 60 seconds- of leaving for home, I hear "Pull over, I gotta boot". Groan. I start to pull over to let this happen outside of my car, only to hear "I'll just roll down the window. You can lean over me and spew outside." NO! Since we're still on a side road, I pull over to the shoulder, door unlocks, door opens and then, since the spry was drowned by beer in the backseat, there was a vomit stripe down someone's back. This was followed by the rest of the vomit managing to find the pavement. Mostly. Our vomit-skunk decided to take this time to empty his bladder on the street, only to be approached by a police vehicle.
Here's where the benefits of designated driving come in handy:
1) Safe ride home for those you care about.
2) Sober negotiator with authorities.
All in all, everyone got home safely without any sort of rap sheet/blackout/official misconduct/long-term effects. In addition to a good story, it made the fact that I got to spend time with friends who are not around often without having to worry about whether anyone was making any truly disastrous life choices. The moral of the story is this: get a designated driver. If nothing else, you get home safely. If anything else, it make for a good story....you know, if drunken tomfoolery isn't totally frowned upon to begin with.
Managed to avoid getting behind the wheel: more beneficial than this picture is damaging.
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