“Get up bro. Get up it’s a cop!” said the random good Samaritan.

I only live a half hour at the most from my house. I can quite literally call my mom at any given time and she will come pick me up. Over fall break, most kids go home. I, knowing I can go home whenever I want, did not. This was a mistake that almost cost me big time.

As of now, I have been chilling with a lot of guys from this frat. They are a great group of guys and know how to have a great time.

Barely any of them went home on fall break and we were just going to have a grand old time staying in Oxford for the three day weekend. The following story takes place on Saturday.

I went to the frat house and met up with the guys. There were a couple of girls over and we had enough people to play 4 vs. 4 century pong. We emptied a case of delicious Natty into each 100-cup triangle of Solos and began playing. After an hour or so of playing, we all started to get to the “feeling it” phase of drunkenness. That’s the phase when all of your asshole friends don’t admit to be being drunk, just “feeling it”. Before we realized what had happened, we had gotten out asses kicked by girls.

Would we allow our pride to be ruined? Fuck no.

“Rematch!” proclaimed my friend.

We got on the phone and dialed for beer delivery. After we dialed for beer delivery, we dialed again because we realized that my buddy had called his grandmother and not the beer delivery service. We sat there for what seemed like days.

Finally, Jesus came to our doorstep with the cases of Natty we had ordered. He was tipped for his prompt service and we began playing again.

Flash forward 45 minutes: “Fuck. We lost again…to girls.”

In misery, we decided to take Irish Car Bombs, a fall break tradition for the frat. An Irish Car Bomb is kinda like a Jager Bomb only disgusting. It’s a shot of whiskey and Bailey’s that you drop into a pint of Guinness. Old Karl might like it, but I didn’t. The Bailey’s curdles up in the beer and it’s like drinking cottage cheese.

Fuck it. I had another. I was now drunk.

There are three stages to my drunkenness scale:

The first is “feeling it/buzzed” and the second is “drunk”. Those are fairly self-explanatory. The third however, is what I call “Jason Bourne-ing it.” That’s where you wake up and wonder what your name is and how you got to that stage in your life. You try to piece together any bit of information you can to recall the night but are left hanging.

Anyway, after we were finished, we decided to go uptown. It’s called “uptown” in Oxford not “downtown”. Why do we call it that? Because we are better than you and we can.

On the way there, one of the senior girls who we played century pong against decided to hold onto my arm on the way to the bar, I guess to relive prom night? I didn’t care. She was a senior and I am a lowly freshman. To do her in my dorm would automatically make me a legend forever.

Once we got to the bar, I was being charming as hell, pulling out all the stops. She started buying me drinks. Jack and Cokes, White Russians. I was in for sure. She held my hand and paraded me around the bar like a poodle.

Then it happened. I Jason Bourne-d.

I am now walking back to my dorm, thirsty as fuck. I decide to take a break and sit down on one of the trees on central quad. As I bent down to rest, all of the liquid in my stomach decided it was time to get out. I puked ferociously and fell into a pool of my own vomit. Now, all of the sudden, some asshole is shaking me.

“Get up bro. Get up it’s a cop!” said the random good Samaritan. There are still good people in the world.

I came to my senses real quick and hopped up. I just picked a direction to walk in and reached for my phone to call some girl.

I am a bitch, seriously. As I reached in my pocket I noticed that my phone was missing. Shit. I walked back in the direction I came from hoping to see it laying there. I couldn’t find it, as my vision was blurred somewhat.

Then, I saw the cop. Any sensible person would just keep walking by. Not me. I can do whatever I want with no consequences because I’m drunk and no one can touch me. I asked the officer for help. “Excussseezee mee suuirr. I droupped myyy phone couuylld yoiuyuu help me finnnd it?”

“Sure son. How’re you doing tonight?” he replied.

“Great surrr,” I said, sensing he was on to me. Then I thought fast, knowing I was about to get busted. “Yeah I just got back in town from studying abroad and I was taking my friend back to her apartment and I dropped my phone. One of my contacts is missing so it’s hard for me to see out here.”

Only people who are at least 21 are typically going to be the students going abroad so I knew he wasn’t going to card me after that. Outsmarted that guy!

“Oh,” he chuckled. I didn’t fool him. “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you just give me your number and I’ll call the phone so we can hear it ring.

“What a great idea,” I said.

I gave him my number and we found my phone.

Then he said, “Have a good night sir. Be safe.”

“I will. Thank you sir.”

As I turned to walk to my dorm I sprayed vomit all over the sidewalk like Old Faithful. The cop never stopped me. That was the second nice person I had met that night.

I woke up the next morning on the floor of my dorm room. My roommate was out of town that weekend, so there were two empty beds in the room. I chose the floor. My head was hurting and I dry-heaved all morning. The real reason my head hurt so badly is that I was trying to figure out what I did to fuck it up with that senior girl. I had her in the bag!

About three weeks later, I was chilling with the guys again at a party and I brought up the story of that night to them. They said the funniest part is what I did to mess it up with that girl.

“What did I do?!” I screamed. “I don’t know what I did!”

Apparently, the girl told me that she was ready to go back to her apartment and that I informed her I had to go to the bathroom once more before we left for the 30th time that night.

After about ten minutes I hadn’t come out of the bathroom. One of the brothers came in and said he found me on my knees bent over the toilet with my head resting on the seat. There was vomit everywhere and he picked me up and got me to my feet. Then I exclaimed that I was able to go home by myself and didn’t need any ones help. I’m an asshole.

When you hit rock bottom, you’ll know it.