The Night I Took “Go Home, You’re Drunk” A Little Too Seriously


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Nice Move


We all have those nights that we take one too many shots or get pressured into slapping the bag and end up passing out on the floor, eating 20 chicken nuggets, or praying to the porcelain gods. Then there are other times when a bottle of vodka ends up making all of your decisions for you, and that’s when shit hits the fan. This is a story about the time I accidentally took an Uber home… to my parents’ house… which is two hours away.

It started out innocently enough. I just wanted to have a good night out with my friends, so I threw on some dark lipstick and a pair of booties, ready to hit the town. One of my friends begged us all to go to a baseball party because a guy on the team invited her and she was hoping to hit a home run (pun intended).

Soon after arriving, the party turned into a full-on rager, packed wall-to-wall with highly intoxicated college kids and music so loud I could barely think. At this point, one of my friends had made her way to the kitchen counter and was grinding on a guy with a Hawaiian shirt on, and the other was nowhere to be found and probably scoring with the third baseman. Instead of looking for my friend and being an accidental cockblock, I made my move to the makeshift “bar” which was actually just a fold up table with a cooler full of purple punch and Solo cups. I was feeling pretty awkward and antisocial, so I did what any normal person would do and chugged cup after cup of the mysterious juice that caused my mouth to look like I just blew Barney.

The last memory I have is my friend holding back my hair as I bent over the grass in the backyard, apologizing profusely to the people around me for being sick, and knowing that I needed to leave the party ASAP.

You can imagine my surprise when I woke up the next morning to the sight of my high school tennis medals, old stuffed animals, and my very angry mother. Yep, I had somehow made it hours away to my parents’ house at one point or another during the night.

According to almost a hundred worried texts from my friends, they had no clue what happened to me or where I went. However, according to my mom, I had gotten an Uber from my college town to my hometown, stumbled up my front steps, and started ringing the doorbell and yelling repeatedly to be let in. The only reason my mom even knew this is because the (extremely patient) Uber driver walked me up to the door to make sure I made it to the right place and let her know my situation. That poor soul deserves a 500+ star rating for putting up with me.

Anyway, I guess what happened is that I really wanted to go home but I couldn’t remember the address of my sorority house, so I decided that I should just put my actual home address into the Uber app instead. Turns out some Uber drivers don’t really mind distance as long as they’re paid well (RIP to my savings). Also, I truly think the guy felt really sorry for me because I was, “crying and just wanted Taco Bell and my bed,” but that part is just par for the course.


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