Midnight Madness

While my day may have been normal, I did witness a calamity this evening shortly after midnight.

After working and working out today, I decided to see meet some of my friends at Roggies for happy hour. After calling to make sure that happy hour was in fact happening this Sunday (and getting confirmation) I made my way over to the bar with K. ANS met us there shortly after and we began ordering drinks. We sat and talked for a little over two hours when the bill finally came. Apparently I had been lied to because our bill did not indicate the happiness of our hours spent there with reduced prices, but rather was steep. Justifiably pissed, I told our waitress that I had called in to confirm happy hour and that there must be a mistake with our bill. She responded, "When we run low on beer we don't have happy hour."

Oh, I get it. You are a bar that is running low on beer! Wait, that makes no fucking sense. Anyway, I maintained my composure and graciously still left her a 20% tip (hey, I've been a waiter before too).

K and I said goodbye to ANS and went back to K's to drink wine, eat cheese, and watch the Oscars. Kate Winslet finally won the statue she deserves and the night was wrapping up. Our friends L and Kel were also with us. L had to leave before the end of the night to write a paper, but Kel and I stayed long enough to see Slumdog Millionaire win Best Picture. We said our goodbyes to K and left.

Okay, here is where the story picks up. We were on our way home causally gossiping when we heard a gigantic crash. We turned our heads to the right and saw that a car had railed into the median that borders the T tracks on Comm. Ave. We ran over to the site to see a car in ruins. Like, completely fucked. We yelled at the man who had just emerged from his car to see if he was okay and if he needed us to call anyone. He responded, "Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks. Could you call my boss?"

Okay, bud. We were inferring that we should obviously call 911 seeing as your car is totally fucked and your face is covered in blood, but what is his number? We dialed his boss just in time for him to tell us, "Never mind, don't call him." Dude, make up your mind.

The man was clearly intoxicated and I suggested that he turn his hazard lights on to avoid further catastrophe. I dove into the car to aid him in doing this when I discovered pill bottles littering the car. Granted I did not know if they were for Claritin D or Vicodin, but my imagination was obviously running wild. Apparently, his ghetto-ass car is not equipped with hazard lights and the car sat motionless on Comm. Ave blocking traffic.

Kel and I were talking to the man about what happened and he expressed his concern over the police coming because, "Ya know, I've been drinking and all. Okay," he said, "I'm drunk." Really? Duh, I was not born yesterday. Our only words of comfort were, "Well, at least you did not hit another person or car..."

A brief glimmer of hope flashed across his face when he said, "Well, maybe the cops won't come at all!" Without missing a beat, sirens wail throughout the crisp air and the glimmer of hope on his face vanished, only to be replaced by grim understanding. Yeah, buddy, your ass is getting a DUI. Sucks, but we told you.

Boston police, an ambulance, and two fire trucks (excessive? yes.) were on the scene in no time and Kel and I waited anxiously in the wings praying for an interview/witness testimony. I was cold and to expedite the process I asked the police officer if there was anything she needed from us--she said no. Damn.

Kel and I went our separate ways. Poor guy, he totaled his boss' car, got a DUI, and did not even have a cell phone. This should be a lesson to everyone: DO NOT DRINK AND DRIVE.