That One Story

No Americans-in-Europe story would be complete without that one night. You know. The one where someone gets completely trashed and everyone else has to try and figure out how to take care of them. I have the unfortunate pleasure of saying, this story will not be without such a story.

Basically: birthday of one the students studying with us. Naturally, there was a party. It was actually a lot of fun. My style of party, I should say. No grinding everywhere, some nice music in the background and plenty of time just to socialize and have fun. I’m sorry college, but that’s just how it rolls in my world.

However. There are three important parts to this story. Number one: Flamming shots. As in ON FIRE. Basically the coolest thing of all time. Especially for me. I’m obsessed with fire. Anyway. It was awesome.

Two: One of the girls in our group (to be fair to women, they were very much overrepresented. There are only four guys total), got…well. Trashed. Long, confusing story short. She ended up passed out and not responsive. For those of you who have no medical background, that’s real bad. Anyway, as a responsible and somewhat social-interaction desperate individual, I was the one called to help.

SO, point three: I ran halfway across the city to their apartment with my roommate who knew the way and happened to be there when I got the call. And I do mean ran.

We may have gotten some strange looks.

I only saw a few. I was focused on running. It was fun. And awful. ANYWAY, we decided that trashed girl would be fine and then spent the night there cause it was late. And we had just run who knows how far to come to the rescue.

I may have felt really awesome and helpful. As bad a situation as it was, I was doin’ what I like to do: help.

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