I helped my oldest friend throw a Halloween bash. Costumes were de rigueur, and Sid’s condom get-up won best male costume. I somehow beat out the werewolf whose father was a dentist and made him false-teeth fangs. The woman who won best female costume as a vampire fooled around with one of my friends on the couch, where they passed out and she peed all over both of them in her sleep.
The skeleton (no pun intended) crew of friends who helped set things up for the party picked up the keg early, around noon. We tapped it by 1:00 p.m. It was largely gone by the time guests started arriving in the evening, so we had to get another. There was also a cash bar for liquor. The brother of the friend hosting the party later said he drove through the area and knew my friend must be having a party when he saw people throwing up on the museum around the corner.
After many hours, I knew I wasn’t going to last much longer, so I convinced a friend to drive me to my girlfriend’s house, a couple of towns away, so I could see her and sleep there. The girlfriend lived with her parents at the time. Once we finished our road sodas, my friend reached in the back and grabbed another beer. (Kids, don’t do this. This was years ago, and we have learned our lessons.) He told me after the fact that he discovered the next day it was his sister’s shampoo he drank the rest of the ride to my girlfriend’s and back.
My girlfriend’s room was off to one side of the house, where her father had conveniently stacked a pile of wood that I could climb to get to her window and let myself in. Which I did, knocking logs off left and right in my stupor, only to discover that, as I knew perfectly well earlier in the day, she was not home, because she was staying at a friend’s house pretty far away. And my ride was long gone, back to the Halloween party.
So Sid entertained himself by puking out the window onto the woodpile and careening off the walls trying to make it to the bathroom to brush his teeth after that without waking the family.
I slept in the closet to avoid the possibility that the girlfriend’s parents might come into the room at some point and find me there by myself.
The next day, I split my time between the closet and anxiously looking out the window for my girlfriend’s return, which didn’t take place until late in the afternoon, at which point I climbed back down the woodpile – careful to avoid the vomit – and got a ride home from her.
My shampoo-drinking friend told me that late that night, the police knocked on his door and asked whether he was [his name]. He said he was, and they asked him to explain why his car was parked two blocks away, running, with the door open and the car stereo blasting.
