"You,,,re not planning on getting drunk tonight, are you?"
"Of course not, dad!" I concluded the conversation every father was having with his sixteen-year-old son that night, finishing my second can of cider.
Never before this night had I tried vodka. There,,,d been plenty of opportunities in the past, but I,,,d always called it a ,oewoman,,,s drink,,, and carried on sipping my cider through a straw, however ironically. This night, however, was a friends sixteenth birthday and since sneaking bottles of lager into pubs had gone so very wrong before (which is another story), me and my friend decided to get half a litre of vodka between us. Probably not a great idea for a seven stone sixteen-year-old who,,,d never been drunk before.
We arrived at the party and almost immediately begin sneaking off every two minutes to take another drink of this awful ,10-a-bottle-and-tastes-like-broken-glass vodka. Even at this stage, my friend is taking the smallest of shots, whilst I,,,m drinking straight from the bottle, like the stuff is water. Eventually, I lose my friend, and end up drinking most of the bottle to myself. By 8pm, when one of my other friends shows up to the party, I,,,ve already finished the two cans of cider and the whole bottle of vodka and he catches me snorting the squirty soap in the bathroom, unable to get served at the bar, and having failed in asking plenty of random guests if they know where I can ,oescore some weed,,,, despite (still) never taking drugs. It,,,s fair to say that by 8pm, I was already in one of the worst states I have been in. So far.
Obviously, from this point on, things are ridiculously hard to remember, but from what I can recall, and from what I,,,ve been told my friends, there were quite a few people trying to sober me up. Being less drunk, I might have accepted their help. Instead, I bumped (metaphorically and literally) into an old friend of mine who could get served at the bar and who proceeded to get me pints in quicker than I could probably drink them now. Eventually, my bladder finally gave in and I attempted to stumble towards the bathroom. Unfortunately, on top of the cans of cider and bottle of vodka, I now had about another 3 pints of bitter inside me, and it took me an incredibly long time to stumble to the toilet. So long, in fact, that if I,,,d have been any longer, I might just have wee,,,d myself in front of a pub full of people. I was (probably, I was too drunk to recall) just thanking the lord that I,,,d made it in time, when I noticed that THERE WAS ONLY ONE TOILET STALL, AND IT WAS TAKEN. Thinking like a drunken idiot, I unzipped my fly, and did what I had to do in the sink, just seconds before the person using the toilet stall was finished and came out, in amazement.
I stumbled out of the toilet, and somehow managed to make it until 1am, having a couple more pints of bitter (bringing the totals up to 2 cans of cider, a bottle of vodka and 5 pints of bitter, give or take). At 1am, I got into the taxi cab we had booked and (although I don,,,t remember at all) carried on drinking my pint, insisting the driver try it; becoming really angry when he wouldn't.
I woke up the next morning with almost no recollection of the night, lying in a puddle of my own sick. I,,,d been so drunk in the night that I had been sick, too drunk to do anything about it, and just rolled over and carried on sleeping. I managed to yell for someone to get me some clean bed sheets, and had to stay in bed for the rest of the day, literally sleeping about 36 hours straight, in between being sick. Overall, my first experience with vodka wasn't a great one.
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