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Christina J Gordon

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Member Since: Feb, 2008

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Life's experiences
By Christina J Gordon
Wednesday, February 27, 2008

Rated "PG13" by the Author.

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This is an essay I did for my Creative Writing class. It consists of three different events rolled into one story.

I don't normally drive my car to the bar. I am totally against drinking and driving, but I found out about a new service around town and thought I would try it out. There is a guy you call and he and his buddy come get you, your car and your friends and take you all home. Sounds convenient, and it costs the same as taking a cab there and back, without the wait. This particular Friday night a few of my friends, my husband and I went downtown to do some karaoke. No worries, right? We drink as much as we want and someone else gets us home. Pitchers of beer for five bucks and two dollar shots is a plan for disaster, but a nightmare is what we wound up with. In a smoky, crowded bar we found a seat at a bar top and started drinking away. The karaoke singers were loud in the background, sounding like a bad audition on American Idol (Simon would have a heyday!). The more we drank the more we sang and I would bet we sounded just as bad as the rest! At around one o'clock in the morning our friend Anthony was ready to call the designated driver's service. I stepped outside to call, and no one answered. I called about five more times but still no one picked up. I went back in the bar to let my friends know that we had a problem and had to find another way. No one was able to drive my car home, which I hated because the last thing I wanted to do was leave my car in downtown Huntington. At one thirty we finally got in touch with a cab, but they said they were backed up and that it would be a while. Meanwhile, my friend Brandie was missing in action. I looked around the bar at all the faces and didn't see her anywhere. I ventured to the bathroom where I found her hunched over the toilet, eyes closed and mouth open, three sheets to the wind. When I went to her she opened her eyes and it was like someone had opened the flood gates. The amount of vomit that came out of this tiny girl still amazes me. I tried to get her to get up, but she was dead weight; her arms limp and head wobbly like a newborn baby's. The poor thing rarely goes out, so I imagine that this escapade was more than she could handle. I blame myself for pumping her full of lemon shots and beer. There was no way I could get her out myself, so I went to seek help. I found my husband and told him of the situation and asked for his help to carry her out. He followed me back there and was going to pick her up, when two bouncers came in and forced my husband to get out of the girl's bathroom. I tried to explain to them what he was doing, but they weren't interested, and instead they carried my friend, a bouncer on each side, out of the bathroom and into a seat at the bar until we had a ride. At around two thirty the bar started to close and everyone was getting kicked out, including me and my drunk friend. We waited outside for a while on the ride that was supposedly on it's way, Brandie hunched over on the stoop and the rest of us standing around smoking cigarettes in the freezing cold air. The streets were pretty quite by this time, with just a couple of drunk stragglers trying to get home. Then, there was this guy. He looked to be young, probably early twenties, not bad looking, white, tall, and blood around his mouth and nose. He told us in his ghetto accent that he had been jumped by a few black guys and they took his money and his weed. This is all I needed. I went into a severe panic attack at the thought of a gang of black guys coming our way on the dark streets of Huntington at three am and here we are, a group of incapacitated, middle class white people. I started crying, I couldn't breath, I was shaky and drunk to boot. My husband tried to console me, while the bar owner popped his head out and asked what in the hell was wrong with me. 'Is she drunk?' he asked. 'No, she has anxiety problems' my husband told him. At this, the owner let us in and got me some water and allowed us to wait inside while we watched for our cab. When he finally showed up two hours after we called him, we piled in and the whole way home I stared at the cab driver thinking he looked like he could be a psycho killer out of the movies. This is why I drink at home!  

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