Way back in my early college days I had two over indulgences with alcohol. And yes, only two because that’s all it took for me to learn that while I could hold my liquor fairly well (as in there was never any puking afterward and I always remembered everything that happened) I disliked the feeling of being out of control.
The first time I was inebriated isn’t a fun story – nothing overly exciting happened, there were no lampshades, no strip poker, no naughtiness at all. Just me being silly.
The second time, however, that’s one of my favorite stories.
I was working at a tourist trap and one of the guys that worked there invited Scott and me to a housewarming party. I didn’t get off work until after ten so by the time Scott and I got there, the party was in full swing. The guy hosting apologized that there wasn’t much left in way of drinks…unless of course we wanted to do some shots. Of course I agreed that this would be a great thing to do. Scott, the designated driver, chuckled and muttered something about me not being able to do shots.
What I heard was a challenge.
We’d only been dating a few months at that point and I was out to make an impression. And boy did I!
Ten to fifteen shots of varying alcohol later – I’ll admit, I lost count – I felt pretty good. Except for the fact that I hadn’t had dinner and my stomach was now grumbling everything was peachy. The party kicked into high gear, but within a few minutes, it became clear that Scott and I only knew a handful of people and so we decided to book out to the beach. A few others joined us and with Scott behind the wheel, we backed out of the driveway.
I was fine.
Scott drove down the street.
I was fine.
Scott stopped at the stop sign.
I was drunk.
I went from slightly hungry and fine to holy crap why is the car spinning in the span of three seconds.
Long story short (because really, let’s get to the good part) I decided that going swimming in the middle of the night in January was the best idea ever. Thankfully, I had some very sober shoulder angels who convinced me that getting in the car and heading back to the dorm was a better idea – although they had to lock me in the car to convince me of that!
Now Flagler has a tough policy regarding alcohol and drug use. As in if you are caught drinking, drunk or high on campus you get kicked off of the campus and put on academic probation. So now, imagine if you will, a very drunk me with a few friends trying to quietly sneak up to my dorm room while avoiding security and the RA.
It was beyond hilarious and amazingly we didn’t get caught (or people chose to look the other way). Once I got back into my very tilty dorm room, I went to my wardrobe to get my pajamas on. Did I mention the tilt-a-whirl way the room was spinning? I required more stability at that point than my own feet and went to lean up against the closed door of the wardrobe. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that door that I always kept closed was wide open! I fell into to wardrobe with a loud crash, upended my laundry basket all over the place and managed to crawl out sporting a bruise that ran from my butt to my hip to my knee.
The next morning Scott came to drop off my car and shook his head in amazement when I demanded a huge breakfast at Shoney’s. He was also slightly irritated at how zooted and out of control I had been.
But I had learned my own lesson: Never do mixed shots on an empty stomach.
Zooted and Zozzled are both adjectives from the 1990s and 1920s respectively that mean drunk or intoxicated.
Example: Zinia stumbled and tripped along the sidewalk. A bicycle cop watching her laughed, "That woman is so zozzled right now, it's amazing she can even stand!"