I arrived with my friends at the music festival at about five in the afternoon, but the pregaming had started an hour earlier: a few mixed drinks while doing makeup, some champagne in the taxi, taking down shots walking… Before we had even reached the event, we had more than halved our supply of alcohol. The drinking didn’t stop there. After some sneaky maneuvers to get the rest of our alcohol past security, we joined the herd of people raving.
Describing the atmosphere as chaotic doesn’t do it justice. It was a state of frenzy. People from all walks of life came out to enjoy the good music with good people and good booze. I spotted druggies tripping on shit I couldn’t pronounce, guys starting fights for no reason, girls dancing like they’re trying to pay the bills and parents regretting bringing their kids. Let’s not forget the thirteen year-olds who had yet to figure out their alcohol limit. We’ve all been there. I, evidently, still can’t seem to remember my own limit.
Anyways while my friends were far from sober, I had felt only tipsy. I considered that the entire pizza I had eaten that morning was soaking up the alcohol and was the reason for my heightened tolerance. Regardless, it’s not the best feeling being the most sober in the group. So I resorted to believing I had to catch up with my friends. Let me tell you the best drinking advice I’ve ever learnt (in my short yet eventful time drinking alcohol), never EVER have the mindset you need to catch up on drinking. The next thing I knew, I was downing vodka like it was water. That’s where my memory of the story ends.
When people say drinking alcohol is just borrowing happiness from tomorrow, if we’re being real, it’s more like stealing because I’m still waiting on that happiness to be returned. I woke up the next morning with a pounding headache, craving water, severely scraped knees, a constant urge to throw up and glitter in places that I still don’t know how it got there. My mom also told me about the lovely DMC I attempted to have with her between dry heaves.
But what happened in those last hours I blacked out? I can only tell you what I’ve heard from other people. Apparently my best friend that I was with also blacked out and another friend had to take care of both of us the rest of the night. This designated-not-so-sober-but-more-sober-than-us-friend had to perform some tactical chunder on us to help us throw up. At one point my friends lost me for a solid 15 minutes before spotting me in the distance next to the porta potties slowly walking in circles looking down at my feet. There was some crying involved, some more throwing up, some falling down, some passing out but thankfully we ended up home safe and sound. A big shout out to people that give up their nights to help drunk people, you guys make the world a better place.
A few lessons learned that day: 1) don’t mess with guys wearing OBEY shirts and hair that looks like soft serve ice cream, it’s likely they’re trying to compensate for their very fragile masculinity, 2) avoid mosh pits unless you’re prepared to get elbowed in the face, 3) don’t ever feel like you need to catch up on drinking, 4) blacking out isn’t fun, I would not recommend it, 5) last but not least, help drunk people because you’ve probably been in their place and if you haven’t, chances are you will one day.