Tales from the Driver’s Side-Times I pushed it too far. Trying (and failing) to do the right thing, part one.

Trying (and failing) to do the right thing, part one.

It had been a busy night in the big city, I got lost a few times, got called a communist, typical Saturday night. I did my usual stupidity and said “one more ride” at 3:30AM, over an hour from home. The request I got was from the south part of town, so I was hoping they were headed my direction and I could just do a drop off on the way. Not so much. Instead they had to catch a early morning flight, and the airport is half an hour in the other direction. I’m not making it home. The actual ride was uneventful, they mainly talked to each other while I dropped some eaves (eavesdropping, get it? Lord of the Rings fans do.) and let a Mystery Science Theater 3000-style commentary play in my head. We arrived at the gate and they left without really saying much at all. Which is cool, but doesn’t sell books. I left the terminal and was heading out. This particular airport is way out in the middle of nowhere but luckily has a 24-hour convenience store out by the parking lots. My genius idea was to pull in, sleep for a couple of hours, maybe rub one out, and wake up and get right back to it. It sounded good in my head.

I pulled into the parking lot away from everything, pulled up the emergency brake and laid my seat back. Did I mention I was at a major airport? Within seconds of closing my eyes I was jolted up by jet noise and my car being rocked, I look up to a Boeing 727 (it’s the one where first class is upstairs) taking off into the distance. It was a lovely sight as a clear dawn was approaching, but fucking inconvenient. I tried my best to get comfortable again for the next three minutes when another plane rocketed overhead. Well, this was a fucking great idea. So I said fuck it, I’ll get on the road, I’ve already got adrenaline pumping right now anyway. I walk in the store and grab a cup of coffee, which I never drink but it does the trick, especially with about 23 packets of sugar. I pull around and begin to gas up the car. The guy at the other side of the pump in one of those rock-crawler style Jeeps recognize my ride share company logo sticker in my windshield and gets my attention. He says he’s an avid customer and drivers have gotten him out of jams several times. He hands me a bottle of Gatorade, (“I can’t take it on the plane anyway.”) shakes my hand and goes on his way. Cool dude, I should cancel plans on him some time.

I prepared accordingly to make it home, already deciding that I am going to take the next day off, I grabbed my coffee; a 5-hour Energy, and 2 big ass Red Bulls and cranked up my rice-burner. Armed with a ridiculous amount of caffeine, a pack of cigarettes, and KoRn Unplugged in the CD player, I headed out; a man on an ill-advised mission. Fuck it. Let’s do it. I poured the 5-hour into my coffee because I hate the taste of both, cranked up the jams, rolled down the windows to get the cold wind in my face and hit the road responsibly for the time being. By the time I hit the interstate, half a Red Bull and most of my coffee was gone and I am wired for fucking sound. I can’t decide if my body is shaking from the cold or the caffeine, but it is fucking go time! I’m in cruise control so I don’t speed too much but I am bouncing off the friggin walls. I’ve got one hand on the wheel, the other out the window waving and pointing at passing cars while I’m yelling “Good Morning!” to everyone I pass. About twenty miles from my house, I begin to feel really nauseous and have accepted the idea that my heart could potentially explode at any second; if the aneurysm doesn’t get me first. But I’m not sleepy, I’m ultra-attentive, and I’m going to make it home. My hands are locked in at 10 and 2 on the wheel and I am no longer able to blink. All of my caffeine is gone and I am really thankful for that Gatorade.

I pull up to the house I’m living in temporarily and head to my room in the basement. I’m trying not to wake anyone but I am stepping on everything in site (or lack thereof; I didn’t turn the lights on) and every time I do, I’m jumping four feet in the friggin air because I am easily startled in this state. I wonder why sarcastically to myself. I get to my room and get naked for bed, then it hits me. Two Red Bulls, a Gatorade, and a 5-hour coffee cocktail all in less than ninety minutes. So I skip to my bathroom, but not before making a circle around the basement because the idea of skipping around naked made me giggle. I get in position and get into a three-point stance that you typically only get into when you’re drunk and have to piss. In fact, that’s how I know my buzz is kicking in, if I’m standing at the the toilet or urinal and I’ve got my feet more than shoulder-width apart, one hand aiming my junk, (you need to aim when you’re drunk) and the other hand on the wall (or car, or tree, or random person) in front of you, holding you up so you don’t fall into your own piss. I usually stand like Superman to pee. All majestic, with my hands on my hips, dicks out for Harambe, and my cape flowing in the breeze.

As I’m holding myself up and starting to go, I’ve been holding it so long that it’s one of those “feel-good” relaxing pisses, and I feel relief wash over me in waves and the hairs on my neck start to stand up and I get all tingly. It wasn’t one of those hard “feel-good” pees that are borderline orgasms, but the other kind of feel good piss. The one’s that after they start you think to yourself “Man, I should’ve sat down for this one.” Any way, I’m feeling relaxed and close my eyes and let out a sigh. I’ve probably been pissing for over a minute already at this point; but it seems I forgot to open my eyes back up. I feel my equilibrium fail and my knees buckle slightly before I right myself. I have fallen asleep standing up loads of times before, but did I just fall asleep peeing? I shake it off (figuratively and literally) and head back to my room. I crashed hardcore. I don’t remember getting to my room, I don’t remember getting in bed, I just remember waking up the next evening with about seven hundred missed calls from my wife. When I told her what happened, she gave me the words of encouragement that only someone who truly loves you can properly give. She called me a dumbass.

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