Where Am I & Who Are You?
We’ve all been there. It’s the morning after the night before. Wake up head banging, eyelids stuck together, momentary panic as you consider the notion you may be blind. The realisation that it’s just your heavy lids combined with gloopy eye gunk deceiving you springs your mind into ecstasy, then the temporary distraction filters away and all you’re left with is a small saint inside your head, clashing cymbals in punishment of the excessive alcohol consumption, whilst simultaneously jabbing a needle at the back of your eyes. You feel anger at the tiny saint and at yourself for once again getting yourself in this state; you vow never to do this ever ever again. But then it dawns on you, it is not possible to prevent this, because you have no idea how this happened. Or where it happened. Or who it happened with.
One of the worst questions to ask in the morning, is not ‘what did I do?’, but ‘who did I do?’ Shit, there’s someone in the bed next to me. The person that owns this bed I presume. Roll over, assess the situation. Consider sliding out of bed and tip toeing away. No, that’s rude. What if they’re my true love? What if they catch me? Best to wait and find out a name at least.
You may, however, have pulled but not taken it this far. Yet. You receive messages in the morning from ‘Night Bus Steve’ asking if you got home ok and if you managed to get the sick off your chest. Firstly, you congratulate yourself on bagging ‘Night Bus Steve’ after throwing up (or during?) and secondly you wonder whether it is a good idea to text back. Thinking about it, this guy must have been kind because he spoke to you even in the horrific state you were clearly in; or was he just desperate? He didn’t take advantage though… You decide to reply, no harm in that. Until, you arrange a date.
Going on a date with someone you’ve met on a night out can be tricky for a number of reasons. The initial hurdle of remembering their face is essential to get right as it will determine whether or not the date actually starts. This can be highly embarrassing. Wandering past your date numerous times and then calling them to find the person next to you answers their phone is not a fantastic first impression. At least you can take consolation in the fact that they had obviously suffered with severe memory loss too…
Once you have located each other and made your feeble excuses, the next challenge is to not ask questions leading to conversation you’ve already had; unfortunately you are very aware of this and therefore jilted small talk ensues. Once all small talk has been exhausted you decide that the best way to avoid rudely asking something that may have been discussed in detail when you were wasted, is to ask something totally random that you would never have thought to bring up when you first met. So you ask, ‘have you ever had any problems in the bedroom?’ Awkward.
Of course the biggest worry of alcohol induced memory loss, second only to gingerly logging on to online banking, is having no idea if you made a complete tit of yourself; what follows is the dilemma of whether you’re better off asking a friend, or living in blissful ignorance, at peace with the unknown. The first port of call is Facebook. There will possibly be pictures there to help you piece the night together. Scrolling through, it appears you have nothing to fret over, it’s just you and your friends on the dance floor…. Perfect. And then dancing on the stage; that’s absolutely fine, the DJ probably requested you to as your dancing was so impressive. Did he request that you perform a strip tease though? Apparently not, according to the next picture – security dragging you off stage. The photos become progressively worse: you asleep face down in a kebab, you on the street throwing up that kebab, you on the bus with a guy. Aha! Night Bus Steve! At least you’ll have no trouble remembering his face if you go on a date.