The other end of the stick

If you have keeping up with this blog you'll know that my roommates are sometimes forced into the position of dealing with my antics when I'm drunk. Sometimes it only involves rising from bed when I stumble back from the bar and I've forgotten my key. Other times it goes down like this.

I know. They are good to me. They have the patience of Job. And that's why, when the circumstances turn, I am very understanding and accepting of their drunkenness.

***

It was a Tuesday night not long ago and Princess had an invite to a launch party for a new satellite radio channel. She decided to take her brother and my other roommate, Cheese. (Hey, you wanna be the girl who takes her cousin to the prom because you can't find a date? Fine.)

The standard line was "we won't be there long." Now, from experience, I know that the "we won't be there long" line, as well as the "let's just take it easy tonight, only have a few drinks" line, usually leads to blackout hilarity.

At various points in the evening I think the chronology of texts from Cheese went like this:

"Open bar"

And then...

"Feelin good"

And then...

"L luv gin and tnics"

And then, a few hours later...

"Can you get s from the metr?"

I was at our house, sipping a beer with my neighbor, The Counselor, when that last text arrived. I head down to the Metro station, wait a few minutes, and I see Princess emerge and walk toward my car. Three minutes behind her, Cheese emerges, slightly swaying, and crawls into the backseat.

***

It's rare that I am the sober one. But you know what I mean. You know how it is when you can tell a person is just incredibly wasted. They have that half smile on their face at all times, their eyelids are squinted, covering up the shallow glassy appearance their eyes have taken. The words slur slightly, but more than that, they repeat everything they say.

That would be Princess and Cheese.

Princess requests that I take them to McDonald's.

Me: "Of Course."

Princess then requests that I take them to McDonald's.

Me: "Sure, no problem."

Cheese then requests that I take them to McDonald's.

Me: "Hey, are you guys hungry? Do you want to go to McDonald's?"

Cheese and Princess: [in unison] "Yesh."

On the way there, in between slurred stories from the evening, Cheese asks if I will take him to his car. I tell him that is out of the question, that he is not driving. This information seems not to resonate at first, but after a few seconds of silence, it starts to sink in. He makes the request again, more adamant this time -- "Dude, you HAVE to take me to my car" -- and once again I deny him.

We pull through the Drive-Thru and start heading home.

Cheese: "Dude, I need my car. I have to go to work early tomorrow."
Me: "Cheese, I can't even begin to tell you how much you're not driving tonight. I will get up tomorrow and take you to work."
Cheese: "No you won't."
Me: "I'm telling you, it's no problem."
Cheese: "Yea, yea. That's what you said about Cougar, and look how that turned out."
Me: "It's not problem, I'll take you."

[A half minute of silence passes, wherein I think the conversation is over.]

Cheese: "Can you take me to my car?"
Me: "Cheese, I told you, you aren't driving tonight."
Cheese: "Dude, I'm fin. Really."

I think for a second.

Me: "Hey, how about this. When we get home you can use the breathalyzer. If you blow under the legal limit I'll take you to your car."
Cheese: [considers it] "Promish?"
Me: "Promise."
Cheese: "It doesn' matter. If you don' take me, I'm walkin'"
Me: "OK."

***

There a few times I've seen breathalyzer results and have been impressed and awed. One time was when my uncle consumed three bottles of wine, was drunk off his ass, and blew a 0.32. There was a time that my ex-girlfriend blew and the alcohol content was so high that the readout simply said "hot." And then there was this night.

We get home. I pull out the breathalyzer. (Hint: Your mom thinks you are an alcoholic if you open up a Christmas present to find a breathalyzer. Just so you know.) I get it ready and, just to settle curiosity, ask Cheese what he thinks he'll blow.

Cheese: "Doo, I'm easy under point oh ay."
Me: [smiling] "OK."

Cheese blows into the small device.

Beep. Beep. Beeeeeeeeeep.

The red-light display staring back at me made me laugh. It was a 0.36.

Me: "Hoooooooooooooo shit. That's fucking impressive. Yea, dude, you aren't driving tonight."
Cheese: "OK."

So we sat there: Princess chomping on her Big Mac, which is almost as big as she is. Cheese mowing on his Double Cheeseburger. The Counselor and I laughing at the way their inebriation entertained us.

At one point, Cheese starts muttering about how, if given the opportunity, he could drive just fine.

I disagree.

The Counselor comes to his defense. "I think anyone who blew a 0.36 would think it's a good idea to drive."

Cheese: "Hey, Guy Who Doesn't Live Here, I don't need your fuckin' opinion."

We start laughing. We try to explain that The Counselor was trying to defend him. It didn't sink in. Few things would at that point. I'm surprised he even knew his name.

Finally, Cheese heads off to bed. He stands up from the recliner, starts walking and, once he gets into the hallways, proceeds to bounce like a pinball off the walls. Before he goes he instructs me that I need to be awake at 6 a.m. sharp to take him to work.

***

The next morning I wake up, true to my word, and knock on his door. Shockingly, he's not ready to go.

A half hour later and he's ready and dressed for work. I am pretty sure his brown pants and white shirt clashed with the slight greenish tint of his face. In the car on the way over, he informs me that he doesn't even remember the Metro ride home, that he only had four drinks -- that he remembers -- and that he is pretty sure in the next hours he will be vomiting.*

Me: Do you remember what you said to The Counselor?"
Cheese: [contemplative pause] "He was over?"

* He did