Dignity or How I Lost My Hat

Gather around, children. I want to tell you a story...the story of how I lost my hat.

I am not a massive, big or even casual drinker. I barely consume alcohol at all, one night of cider a week at very best an even then that is two times out of a month whilst being hosting a board game social. But tonight was special. It was a good friends birthday and after the last few weeks we'd all had we needed to let out hair down, or at least burn something.

Being not much of a party-animal anymore I dressed up rather then down and contributed one and a half bottles of gin and tonic water and limes. I considered bringing port but I wasn't sure what kind of atmosphere it was going to be. All that I knew for sure was that at some point someone would mention the political climate or economic policy and we'd be stuck in a discussion of pleasant but familiar intellectual territory. I decided to play it safe. It was a friends birthday and in the spirit of such things people had every intention of getting horrendously drunk.

It started out reasonably conventional; loud music, lots of varied conversation and plenty of unoccupied drinks knocking around as we all quickly forgot where we'd put them and made a fresh one. By midnight the party was hitting over-drive. People were dancing to terrible 90's pop music with The Backstreet Boys at the for-front of this hideousness. Tequila shots were fashionable like oxygen. Strange people I'd never met before sprang out of no-where, conversed and vanished into the aether of the night as silently as they'd appeared. By two a.m. things had hit critical-mass. People were passing out in unusual places i.e. upside-down or on the toilet. 'Windowlicker' by Aphex Twin had been played swiftly followed by 'Groove is in the Heart' and no-one batted an eyelid. At one point I even witnessed a friend water-boarding the birthday boy with a beer keg. Crazy didn't cover it; it was like one of those "where are they now?" documentaries about the beasts from 'Where The Wild Things Are' and they'd all decided rehab was a great place to throw a reunion party. It was awesome.

It hit that stage in the evening when, between my 51st gin-and-whatever of the evening and a good friend on one side half-slurring and half making a really valid point about global economic collapse (told you!) that I hit my alcohol limit. When I hit my limit I can feel it, like I've come to the cliffs edge. A tipping point between being responsible for my actions and down the rabbit hole - a world where anything was possible and I was blind drunk. I absent mindedly pondered if I'd met that same point Michael Cane did at the end of 'The Italian Job' and when my stomach cramped a little I knew it was time to put down the glass. I made a polite excuse and left the conversation to making my way across the room to the stairs where I knew a small, quiet toilet would await me on the opposite side of the kitchen. I could drink some water and maybe even throw up a little in peace and return to the party. Dignity in tact.

I gave myself a few minutes in the kitchen drinking water and eating a home-made cottage pie I'd made about twelve hours earlier as an alternative birthday gift.

Stood in the one by two meter bathroom sipping at a mug of Leeds finest tap water I could hear the music playing from upstairs and the comforting sound of someone falling over. As I felt my mouth lightly water in anticipation for the first bout of vomiting I sipped water for the last time and put the mug aside, knelt down and reached for the door lock... but there wasn't one.

"...Are you down here, dude?"

Ah shit. I quickly stood back up and grabbed the sink for support.

"Yeah... sup mate?"
"Just wondering where you've been, you've been a while."

I could have lied and sent him on his way, he'd never have known about my situation and minutes later we could have been partying again. Instead, being drunk or just a moment of sincerity or both...

"I'm just throwing up. I'll be back up in a minute." No big deal.
"Ah, that sucks. Are you alright?"
"I'll be fine."
"You want me to get you some water or..."

My eye twitched and something in my heart sank. Being drunk had made me emotional. I felt the truck on the cliffs edge began to teeter. Oh Jesus, no!

"...Um. No no. Listen, I appreciate you trying to help but...uh..." I wasn't sure how to phrase this but I had been honest so far, it would be worse if I was caught out throwing up and made a big deal out of it by trying to cover it up "Just don't be nice to me, ok? I'll probably start crying. I'm feeling drunk and emotionally vulnerable right now and just want to throw up in peace so I can go back up and party hard."

I'm sure he'd understand.

"But why would you be upset that I'm being nice to you, you're really nice to everyone else?"

Tipping point. Michael Cane plunges helplessly over the cliff side, screaming towards certain squishing with his truck of gold bullion. My eyes welled up and leaked. Ah shit...

Game over, man. Game over...

I stood there crying in this tiny bathroom crying like an emotional wreck. My friend with his hand on one shoulder STILL being nice to me.

"Aw. You're sort of cute when you're this drunk."

Then I vomited. Still crying.

"...Oh, um..."

I vomited again.

"You really meant "don't be nice" didn't you?"

Gasping for air I surfaced from the toilet bowl "Yeah...I...really...meant-BWRUUUAGH!"

I have no idea how long I went back and forth between liquid trying to escape my body through my face but when later described the words most used are "vomit" and "fountain". At least it couldn't get any worse. At least no one else would seeing me in this state...till Mark appeared.

"Hey guys!" Instantly the water-works stopped. I jerked up right and tried to look casual. Bloodshot eyes and probably sick on his chin but casual. I could salvage this. "Just wondering where you'd got-"

"Fuck off, Mark!"

I turned and looked at our mutual friend in surprise then back at Mark. His face sank. I watched him turn and slowly walk back up stairs in silence like a dog who's being punished. Seeing Marks face like that made me feel sad. I went back to crying. And throwing up.

Next thing I remember I was getting into the back of a taxi. Two friends riding along with me back to my house. I felt absolutely fine, still drunk but fine. And at least now I could get home and crawl into bed. At least it was over. As I stepped out of the taxi car I threw-up. Somewhere between the taxi and my front door I lost my hat.

Dignity. It's a write-off.