Strange places you have woken up

-In the volleyball court of my fraternity house.
-On the patio of a tequila bar covered in puke.
-In my car, in front of my dorm ( 1st time I did coke, mixed with a ton of booze and weed, and have no recollection of getting home).

 

-Beale Street on the Missisippi River. It was my 18th birthday.

 

We took a good friend of mine to see some music on his birthday and we bought him many shots during the night. We all went back to a friend's house on the beach to party some more. After an hour or so we noticed that the birthday boy was missing. We searched the beach and surrounding areas but didn't find him. There was some discussion about calling the cops because it was possible that birthday boy went for a swim.

I was up making coffee at 8:00am the next morning and heard a knock at the door. The next door neighbor was there with the birthday boy. Yep, he had gone outside to vomit, got turned around, and ended up crashing on the neighbor's couch. Thankfully the neighbor was cool because the birthday boy was fairly combative when he was woken up and questioned. He was dressed only in his boxers because he had puked all over himself and had taken a dip in the ocean to wash off.

Oh, and I have woken up in a ditch during a rainstorm in Va Beach, in the back of a pickup truck while driving down rte. 1, in someone else's tent at a festival, and underneath my front porch in the late fall. I wish I could remember how I ended up in those places but I don't.

 

I have a really bad memory when I drink, I start forgetting things about 4 pints in and on most weekend nights out I'll have at least one black spot. After one of the heaviest nights of recent times involved me waking up on pretty much on the pavement in some place. I don't remember the location. I was drunk enough after waking that the time immediately after is lost. Not that great.

 

Another one, and this one involves a concert as well.

I went to see Jenny Lewis at The Fillmore in Frisco earlier this year and I drank a bit and ate a weed brownie [a really heavy one] before going inside.
My plan was to eat half before and half later but then I remembered how the people at the door pat you down and squeeze your pockets, so I ate about 4/5ths of it and had a bite left before feeling too shitty to eat it. I put it in my pocket and sure enough at the door they squeezed it into crumbs.

The Sadies was the band opening for Jenny Lewis. In the middle of their set, my vision started shitting the bed and everything just started getting bright lights. I then lost my balance and started falling forward and luckily my brother-in-law was there to grab me by my shirt so that I didn't knock over a bunch of hot indie rock girls. Instead I fell right where I stood like a sack of potatoes. I woke up 30 seconds later to a crowd around me and I could not understand what happened. The event security came and took me to the back and gave me some Gatorade and had me sit down for a bit. I think what happened was my legs locked up and all the blood from my head went to my legs and I just passed out. When I recovered I went back and saw The Sadies finish their set. Towards the end of it, one of the guys in the band said "Hey, does anyone know if that mate that passed out in the middle of our set is alright?" I raised my hand and the guy responded "Well done lad, you are the first person to pass out on this tour in the middle of our set."

 

I have a knack for passing out in the most creative places. Once, I crawled on top of a washer and dryer and passed out there. With my hand down my pants, no less. I was blacked out, wouldn't have believed it if one of my friends hadn't taken a picture.

Another time, I passed out on top of a kitchen counter after a party. There were all sorts of empty beer bottles and glasses occupying the space as well, and somehow I managed to not knock over a single one...

The best, however, (or worst?) is when I woke up outside sitting on a patio chair. It wasn't outside of a random person's house, it was my friend's place, but I had lost him while we were out the night before and I have no idea how I got back there. My legs were shredded, it looked like I tackled a barbed-wire fence. It was the sun that woke me up at 11 AM. I was asleep in the patio chair in such a way that half my face was sunburned.

 

I have never been able to live this story down, and it is brought up every time I visit my housemates from University, who now share a house together in the city. I am extremely weary of living near one of several stations on the Euro Tunnel line as a result of this incident.

"Bonjour? Bonjour? Vous êtes éveillés?" The words nagging me like a sledge hammer, spoken by a husky gentleman in the lobby of a dimly lit hotel somewhere in France, at least I hoped it was France. I vaguely recognised the lobby, but not too well, asking where I was and what time it was, the gentleman turned to a girl behind the front desk, saying, "Ah, English. Get a map!"

"Scottish actually" Hardly the time to be picky about my own nationality when I have only having a human alarm clock s an indication of where in the world I was. A brief conversation concerning the Hotel's policy of letting vagrants sleep in the lobby and questions of, "Why can't you English boys drink in moderation?" passed by as I started to realise where I was.

It was the same hotel I'd stayed in when visiting Paris three years past. I still had no idea how I ended up there, but I knew I was very close to Gare du Nord. I apologised to the Hotel staff and made my way to the station (It's a very easy route to remember. Exit the hotel, turn left, walk for ten minutes, and you're there.) Upon reaching the station, my hand plummeted into my pocket while I hoped to find my wallet. No, just the damned accessory to my sense of loss, a passport. Cursing, I reached into another pocket. Success, my wallet is still there, and roughly seventy pounds lighter. My debit card was still in my possession, while knowing of my limited funds, I was determined to get home and so purchased another Eurostar ticket, plunging further into my overdraft.

Upon returning home. My housemates where surprised to see me, not because they were wondering where I was, but because I had returned much more swiftly than they expected. I soon learned of how and why I was sleeping in a damp Parisian hotel lobby.

Out comes Jack's mobile phone. He plays a series of voice mail messages which follow as such;

(Very basic point of each message, inebriated ramblings omitted)

1: Hello Jack, Roundhouse here. I've been thinking a lot about my ex girlfriend, she moved back to France a few months ago.
2: Hello Jack, me again. I've bought a train ticket to Paris, I told Spencer to pass on the message to the rest of the chaps, I'll be back in a few days.
3: Jack, they have a terrible bar on the buffet car here.
4: What was the name of that hotel we stayed at three years ago? (I didn't even know him then, I must have either assumed he was on that trip, or I meant to call someone else)
5: Do you know where she lives now? I don't remember. (I never knew in the first place)
6: Nothing but drunken rambling.

Everyone in the house erupted in laughter while I stood there dumbfounded. I'm told the catalyst to the series of events was meeting a young woman who bore a striking resemblance to my then ex-partner, which sparked in an interest in visiting France to track her down and... I never thought further than that.

The most humiliating part? The young woman who I met before leaving for France, actually was my ex-partner. She was back in the country visiting her brother (who I originally met her through). I haven't seen her since and to be honest, I wouldn't know what to say to her now other than, "Whoops".

A quick note: No, this did not start a Google-Whack adventure, I did the opposite to Dave Gorman. I turned around and went home, not knowing of why I was in another country until after I returned home. He made a stage show, a book, and earned a decent living off of his adventure. I lost a chunk of my student loan and have since become nicknamed the Flying Scotsman, for a rather embarrassing reason.

 

Alone locked in somebody else's car (and I did not know that somebody else). Turned up that I started a drunken fight(I do not remember any of it) so bar security wanted to throw me out. My friends took me out and locked me in the car that belongs to the brother of one of them. At least I did not end up sleeping on the pavement like they did.

In my granma's house. I never suceeded to find out how to hell I got there and why. Granma says she could not understand shit of what I was talking about when she opened the door at 6am and let me in