Brittney
I stumble out into the cold night air, giggling. Wow, I feel good. The world pitches slightly to the left and it takes me a minute to swing my gaze around, back to my besties, Erica, Lisa, and Ashley. They whoosh in and out of focus and I grin drunkenly at them. “Wow. It’s cold out here,” I slur. But the temperature doesn’t affect me; my blood is running hot from the alcohol running through it. I’ve probably got more alcohol than blood in my veins at this point.
Lisa jabs at her phone. “There’s no Uber anywhere around,” she says, her forehead knotting with worry. She drank less than I did, and thus seems to care more than I do. I figure hell, one will show up at some point. We should just start walking…somewhere. Like home?
Do I want to go home? Suddenly, that decision seems, like, super complicated. I could just crash on Lisa’s couch. Or Ashley’s. Or Erica’s.
So...
Many...
Choices...
The deadbolt in the front doors of Bungalow 8 slides into place, reminding me that no matter where I decide to go, back inside isn’t one of the options. At four in the morning – I stare at my iPhone, trying to bring my eyes into focus – okay, 4:12 in the morning, they’re done with us. As the bouncers like to say, “You don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here.”
As Ashley and Lisa compare screens, trying to figure out the fastest way home, I’m suddenly hit by it. “It” being a Very Full Bladder.
I find myself dancing. I mean, I was dancing like an hour ago, out on the dance floor of Bungalow 8, but those were real moves. This? This is the “I gotta go pee!” dance.
Second difference? My dance moves on the dance floor of Bungalow 8 were voluntary. My current moves? Not so much.
I tap Erica on the shoulder. Well, to be fair, I think I kinda whacked her across the face, but close enough, right? “What?!” she yelled, jumping in surprise.
I might’ve gotten her in the eye. It’s hard to tell in the dark. And, I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, but I am slightly inebriated.
Slightly.
Why do they make the word “inebriated” so hard? Who can actually say that word when they’re drunk? Now drunk – that’s a good word. Anyone can say drunk, even if they’re—
“Brittney, are you okay? You’re mumbling a lot. What about being drunk?” Erica asks.
Oh.
Right.
I had a question.
“I gotta go. Like, really bad. I might just cop a squat and pee right here,” I announce. All three of my besties shut up and turn to stare at me.
Well, at least I got them to stop staring at their phones for five seconds.
“Brittney, you cannot cop a squat right here and go pee.” There goes Ashley and her logic. Such a Debbie Downer. We should call her Ashlowner. Get it?
Get it?
But instead of waiting for me to tell her my latest idea, Ashlowner takes off down the street.
Where is she going?
I stare after her, trying to figure out where the fuck she’s going, when a small part of my brain registers that she’s moving towards a business where I could probably use their bathroom.
Right. Because I need to go pee. I’d totally forgotten, although my bladder comes roaring back to life as soon as I remember. I stumble after her, trying to keep up. Why did New York make such uneven sidewalks? They really should pour smooth sidewalks. I’d be less likely to fall over if the ground was smooth.
I open up my mouth to share my brilliant idea with my besties when Ashlowner turns back and says, “I can’t believe it – they’re closed!” I catch up to her and stare at the sign.
OPEN 24 HOURS A DAY! it proudly proclaims in all caps. Right above a “Closed” sign.
Liars.