Drunk people: continuing to love me. #CollegeEdition

A while back, I wrote a post about how drunk people love me. I am not around them all that often, or at least random ones who aren’t my friends to begin with, but my power to be a Drunk Magnet was put to the test a few weeks ago when I visited my college campus for my somewhat annual girls’ trip.

Of course, it’s hard to avoid drunk people on a college campus, especially if you are at a bar. Which we were. Multiple of them. And while not drunk, I certainly was not refraining from alcohol. But some poor soul definitely was refraining way less than I was, and our encounter went something like this:

My friend Em just happened to notice a table opening up. She went over to the table, waving her arms at us to signal her score. Meanwhile, Drunky McGee, a young woman obviously having some trouble, just sat herself down at same said table. I should mention it was Dad’s Weekend and there were Drunk Dads a’plenty to be found everywhere. This young lady was with daddy, and daddy was also lit like the Fourth of July sky. Slumping over in her newly-acquired seat, girlfriend paid zero attention to her father’s pleas to vacate, nor the stinkeye she was receiving from a gang of 40-year-old women who just wanted to sit the eff down and not deal with this nonsense. And yet, because she failed to stir, we took the opposite tack.

“Are you ok?” one of my friends asked her.

It had the effect of flipping a switch on a wind-up doll, or a Teddy Ruxpin. Her eyes came alive, she sat up, and suddenly she found herself at a table with her NEW BEST FRIENDS. I am going to use all caps a lot, because she shouted questions at us incessantly, beginning with: “WHAT SORORITY ARE YOU GUYS IN?” None of us were in sororities while at school, nor were were in them now. “We’re not in one,” we told her. “NO! WHAT. SORORITY. ARE. YOU. GUYS. IN?” Apparently she was not ¬†going to accept “none of the above” as an answer, so we made up some greek letters in a sequence and that appeared to appease her. Next question. “WHERE ARE YOU FROM?” We told her our respective cities. “WHAT DORMS DO YOU LIVE IN?” I’m pretty sure the dorm I lived in doesn’t exist anymore but I told her anyway. The fact that she thought that a bunch of 40-year-old, wrinkled bitches were her peers was hilarious. Now it was time to get to know her. “What year are you?” one of us asked.

Ready?

“Freshman,” she said.

This little Tootsie not only was completely intoxicated to the point where she was fooled into thinking middle-aged women were her sorority sisters, but she was in a bar with her dad, underage. Gotta love it. I think her dad finally convinced her to get up, but not before she slapped a tequila shot out of his hand, spilling it on my friend’s pants. Damage done. I hope she doesn’t remember this shining moment from Dad’s Weekend, but she gave my friends and I something to talk about, as we screamed at the top of our lungs, “WHAT SORORITY ARE YOU IN?” at each other ¬†for the rest of our time there.

I see you, drunk people. Who will be my next story?