I saw myself plastered and it wasn’t pretty
I did something pretty unusual on Saturday night. Well, unusual for me. I had a quiet one.
I declined various invitations to meet up with mates at a gig, a house party and a pub. Instead I grabbed a likeminded friend whose liver also needed a night off. We headed to the cinema, donned some 3D goggles, sat through a pretty enjoyable movie and then headed home.
Why did I ‘waste’ a perfectly good weekend party-night? Truthfully I was tired and completely happy to just throw on my comfy jeans.
It’s a little lame to admit but I was genuinely excited to skip one night usually spent elbowing people out of the way at a bar. All I wanted was a nice dull evening. One that I could remember the mundane details of the next day.
But on the trip home things got interesting.
I live in central Sydney, and had gone to the movies right in the heart of the Sydney CBD. To get home it was just a quick train trip to Kings Cross. Two stations. 10 minutes. Easy and dull.
But no, not dull. What I saw on that 10:30pm Saturday train was fascinating.
Through my stone-cold sober eyes I watched a group of about 15 friends run amok on the train. All about my age (very early twenties) and all totally smashed, they spent the journey staggering around the top part of the carriage, shrieking at each other and heartily swigging hot pink Bacardi Breezers.
It was early in the night and they were out of their minds drunk. Just like I am some Saturday nights.
One girl in particular caught my eye. She was tall, quite nicely dressed and somehow managed to accidentally flash her underwear at me three times in under a minute. I couldn’t take my eyes of her purely because it was like looking in a mirror. She was like the Ghost of Saturday Nights Past. The Spirit of Past Spirits you could say.
Looking at her I realised for the first time exactly how shrill, irritating and undignified I am when pissed. I saw just how annoyed people get when I shout over the top of them and discovered that sometimes I am the only one laughing at my ‘amazing’ jokes.
It was really horrifying stuff.
As the train pulled into the station the girl stumbled past me and I met her eyes for a second. I had a bit of a Sliding Doors moment and tried to imagine what the rest of her night was going to involve. I guessed that on the cards for her were a fair few more drinks, some dancing somewhere, a lot of laughs, a couple of mystery bruises and a killer headache tomorrow.
Nothing really wrong with that, but for some reason I was still cringing on the inside a little.
Don’t get me wrong. Next Saturday I’ll undoubtedly be off the wagon, and back on that booze-train. I’ll probably be getting a little loose with my nearest and dearest, telling those ‘amazing’ jokes and waking up missing my wallet, keys or small chunks of my dignity.
But I reckon in the back of my head I’m just going to keep that train trip in mind and maybe rein myself in just a little.
So to the Federal Government I say this. Screw taxing alcopops, those self-righteous education programs, or spending millions of dollars on anti-binge drinking ad campaigns. We all know about the health problems, the ‘alcohol fuelled violence’ and the other associated dangers of drinking. It’s not going to change the attitudes of many people my age.
Instead work out some way to get people to see exactly what they look like when pissed. I can assure you it is sobering viewing.
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