A game of Dare (and how not to drink).
‘You watscch, I’m goiiiiiing to drink zur whooole bottle’ – the famous last words of someone who should never be dared to do ANYTHING.
Somewhere in Leeds, a group of second year students congregate before heading to a club. It’s 10:30pm, the music’s loud, the spirits are out and the inevitable Ring of Fire is in full swing, with a foul looking ‘dirty pint’ sat waiting devilishly for its next victim, complete with curdling. It’s a scene common to students (and probably too, to some older members of the population) – only this night I was destined for a far more unique view of the night time happenings of Leeds.
And so it was that with taxis booked, flatmate ‘R’ proudly announced he was going to finish the bottle of vodka left on the side. Ignoring warnings from elsewhere, it only took one ill-advised ‘Go on, I dare you’ from someone, to ensure the contents of the bottle were necked almost in one before R’s grip loosened, resulting in it nearly ending up on the floor in several pieces.
NEVER dare someone who simply cannot say no.
Cue the hilarity – tumbles, slurred speech, and mistaken names were a taster, but the pièce de résistance came when R failed to spot the large black leather sofa lurking in the middle of the room where it had always been, subsequently falling backwards over it on two separate occasions and ending in a dignified heap on the floor, cut just above his eyebrow. Thankfully, social media has meant that three and a half years later, this spectacular incident is forever recorded on video. R was later found quivering on his floor, rather unresponsive to anyone, appearing to have redecorated his bedroom walls and floor with the remains of his last meal. Based on advice from a medical student present, we thought it best to have him looked at – R was the only flatmate with a car, which sadly meant phoning A&E.
Having verbally abused the ambulance staff prior to attempting escape, the staff deemed it fit to strap him down. With Houdini safely locked away, my flatmate and I set about finding him a wheelchair, his ability to walk questionable. A&E is an interesting place on a Saturday night and when all are looking at you wondering what on earth is wrong with your patient, you know it’s bad, especially when R is yelling out, insistent that he’s outside his own bedroom. Finally, after vomiting on the hospital staff, snoring in a corridor and shouting at us to ‘Fill the dishwasher up’, R was discharged with a strict rap on the knuckles. We never did get to town.
Although it’s a good story to humiliate R with to this day (I remember it fondly), it’s worthwhile considering how vulnerable we can be under the influence. Whilst we all like a good time, knowing when to stop is key to ensuring your own safety (as well as the return of your flat deposit!). That said excursion cost the NHS around 1k – also something to think about – an expensive lesson learnt and a consideration for all.
As for R, it’s the cheapest night he’s ever had – he ‘definitely’ remembered the first two clubs he’d apparently been in. Until he got back to a mop, bucket, disinfectant, and a legacy that will stay with him forever.