Designated Driver

Name: Zack

Age: 23

It was San Diego Street Scene 2005. A group of friends and I got some chicks together, packed some vodka in some water bottles for camouflage, and headed down to Qualcomm Stadium for the big night. I was the DD that night. Now, being underage at the time, I had no way of getting into the beer gardens at the venue; but my friends wanted to get in. Fortunately, I somehow looked just like my buddy Jason’s driver license. So, he lent it to me for the night as a temporary fake ID.

“Water bottles” in hand, we get into the venue and stroll through the beer gardens. After about an hour of drinking I had to use the restroom. I separate from my group and wait in line at the porta-dookers. When it’s my turn, some hot chick comes up to me and tells me she has to go really bad, and she’ll give me $10 if I let her in front of me. An employee nearby mentions that I should only let her through if she gives me a kiss, too. I agree.

Having peed, been french-kissed by a hot chick, and up $10, I think to myself, this is going to be a great night. I catch up to my friends again.

Soon we all split up; my chick and I wanted to go see Garbage, and my other buddies wanted to see The Used, who were playing at the same time. Fair enough. I’m having an awesome time dancing to the music,
spilling vodka on everyone around me. I look over to smile at my chick, and suddenly see some dude with his arms around her! I push him off and get in his face. Everyone around us realizes there’s about to be a fight, and they form a circle around us. Next thing, my chick comes up on my right to ask me, “What the HELL are you doing?!” I slowly realize to my jaw-dropping horror that I was about to fight over the wrong freaking girl.

So, I apologize to the guy. My girl leaves. Whatever, I still get to listen to the rest of Garbage’s set. I dance some more, spill some more vodka on everyone around me, having fun. Then I realize I’m extremely drunk, and need some air. I start to walk my way through the endless crowd. My walking soon turns into running as I realize I’m about to hurl. Realizing I’m about 5 seconds away from losing my dinner–with no trash can in sight–I stumble to the ground to begin hurling.

I think I must have blacked out at that point. The next thing I know, I’m sitting cross-legged, and some girl is handing me a bottle of water and telling me to drink it. Then I see a pair of black uniform pants and boots in front of me, quickly making me pray that it’s not a cop. The owner of the boots starts asking me where my friends are, and tells me to call them. But I’m so hammered that I can’t; so I find Jason’s number in my cell phone and hand it to the person.

Jason told me the rest of the story like this:

He’s in the crowd listening to Snoop Dogg, and gets a call from my phone.

Call #1: (Jason) What up, fucker!!! [hangs up]
Call #2: (Jason) I can’t hear you!!! Listen to Snoop Dogg!!! [holds phone up to the music, then hangs up]
Call #3: (Jason) Fuck yooouuuu!!! I can’t hear you!
(Paramedic) Jason! Come get your friend, ‘Jason’, at the first aid booth!”
(Jason) Wait, wait….what?
(Paramedic) I have your friend, ‘Jason’ over here at First Aid. You need to come and get him!

Yes, folks, this was the same Jason whose ID was sitting in my pocket.

Jason finds where I am, and laughs. There I’m sitting, slumped over in a tiny kindergarten chair. The paramedics at the booth start to tell Jason that they are about to take me to the hospital; he quickly
starts to whisk me away from there. But the paramedics try to stop him, saying, “Wait! You can’t just take him with you like that!” But he starts whisking me even faster, and we run away from there.

So we start the long journey back to my car–I was the DD, remember?–with my buddy practically carrying me because I’m about paralyzed from the alcohol.

We get to my car. I’m in my backseat, still puking. Apparently some guy takes an interest in helping me. He takes my shirt off of me (!) and decides he’s going to stay and just chat with us. At some point he sees my Marine tattoo and makes a comment about how Marines should always be able to handle their alcohol, blah blah blah. Although I can hardly move, I muster up all my remaining strength to flip him the bird. He leaves.

So, I’m in the backseat, quickly losing consciousness. Although he can’t remember doing so, my buddy drives my car all the way up to Escondido (about 26 miles). How do we know that he drove? Well,
another friend in our group was about half an hour behind us. When that friend pulls up to the house, his girl (Fergie’s cousin, by the way [yes, that Fergie]) notices some guy leaning out of a car, passed out on the grass. His feet are still in the car; the light was still on, too. Our guess has been that Jason had somehow driven us all the way to his house, parked the car, shut off the engine, and then just passed out on the grass right next to us.

My night ended up with me shirtless and passed out in my backseat. Imagine my shock when I woke up to bright fucking sunlight the next morning!