I went to a club Friday night. Went to hang out with the guys and have a late birthday drink. It was a pretty small place. In fact it wasn’t a club, it was a lounge. Looked like a neat breakfast spot, with the chairs cleared out. To my satisfaction the place was lacking that stale club odor and the sticky floors that usually compliment the smell. I will spare you all the details of the club scene since it isn’t essential to this story. It’s what happened after we left that is relevant.
It was a nice night, so we stood outside the venue telling jokes. I watched a young lady exit the lounge. Her head was down as she stumbled by us. I continued to watch as she crossed the narrow street and took a seat on the curb. Her movements were zombie-like. She was obviously wasted. I admit it was funny at first, so I turned back to my friends and we continued our jokes. I kept turning back, however. Although I was used to the sight from my years of partying, suddenly it was no longer funny. I felt bad for her. That and it didn’t feel like a good idea to just leave her there. As a result, I went and checked on her.
She wasn’t attractive by my standards so it wasn’t some macho, subconscious, and shallow attempt to help a beautiful woman in need. She just didn’t look like she was going to make it and something forced me to check on her. Good thing to, because she was a mess. Couldn’t even use her cell phone to phone a friend. Well, I guess that’s not saying much because I was sober and couldn’t figure out how to use the damn thing. Either that or I just didn’t have the patience to figure it out so I handed it to my friend. After some confusion and humor we were finally able to reach her ride and direct them to us. She would soon be releasing the contents of her stomach all over the pavement. Thank God, I know not that stand in front of or beside drunk people. Her friends arrived right on time for that. They took over, thanked us and we left.
I felt good about myself. The feeling was short-lived, but still a great feeling nonetheless. To be honest, it felt better than getting wasted and dancing with any girl who looked good in the eyes of an inebriated man. Felt better than leaving the club with a pocket full of numbers (Yea I know, that comment was seriously out-dated). Maybe nothing would have happened to her whether I assisted or not. Maybe my intervention caused some time shift and prevented her from getting into an accident later. Or maybe it caused one? I don’t know. All I know is that it felt good knowing she wasn’t going to get kidnapped and end up in the woods. Extreme, but never know what could have become of her.
Does this mean I am now going to walk the streets of Boston saving every intoxicated woman? Stand on rooftops watching and waiting for someone to save? Wear tights and call myself Drunkchicksaver Man? Hell no.
– Vic Louis