Drunk Tales 3

I’d been warned of the perils of combining vodka and Red Bull: it makes you hyper, it makes you crazy, you won’t be able to sleep. Oh yeah, it’ll kill you too. These may seem like significant cons, but there’s one all-powerful pro: it tastes brilliant.

I’d taken to vodka and Red Bull with great relish and hadn’t encountered any ill-effects. But one night, for some reason, it destroyed my mind.  I was really, really steaming, and when I left a club and the fresh air hit me, I became subhuman. I got into a taxi (which the next day I realised was a man in a car posing as a taxi driver. Perhaps my friend accompanying me was the only reason I wasn’t murdered that night). For reasons unexplained, we were dropped off a 15-minute walk from my house.  My friend was walking behind me and grabbed my shoulders.  I thought this was the beginning of some stupid drunken fighting game, so I threw his arms off of me and sprinted off into the darkness.  I decided to make this a hiding game and I moved stealthily from corner to wall, from one vantage point to the next, ready to leap out in surprise.  This was in a moderately unsafe neighbourhood in the early hours of the morning.  Despite my cunning I lost sight of my friend, and eventually headed home.

I arrived at my house and spotted my friend waiting outside.  His face was swollen and bleeding.  He refused to say much to me and was irate, as if this was somehow my fault.  He couldn’t bear sleeping in my house and came in purely to use the phone.  Soon after he was in a taxi heading home.

I awoke the next morning, still drunk, and tried to piece together the previous night’s events.  I was adamant that homeboy had been attacked after I left him.  I decided to find out who was responsible.  Somehow, someone would pay.

I met up with him the next day; his face was swollen and bruised.  I couldn’t believe someone would do this to him.  He told me who was responsible.  Me.

Flashback to previous night: he’d slipped on some ice while walking.  To stop falling he’d grabbed onto my shoulders.  Me pushing him away had quickened his fall and he’d went crashing to the ground, smacking his head on the concrete.  He’d looked up to see me running away.  And he didn’t know the area particularly well so he had to find his own way to my house in a neighbourhood he didn’t know, all the while bleeding from head injuries.

I’m sure he laughs about it now.

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