I went out last night for the second super-late night drinkathon in a row. I stumbled into my building, as under the influence of drugs and beer as the entire cast of Dazed and Confused, and extremely fatigued from the entirety of two months of a night shift work schedule, capped off with my just-mentioned two day bender. It was around 4:30am, and if you’re horrendously exhausted, drunk, and high at 4:30am, while just getting home – well, I can tell you that I certainly felt pretty shitty about myself.
I opened the door to my building to be greeted by a good looking guy who opened the door for me as I came through. I eyed him a bit suspiciously, because it was 4:30 in the morning, and what the hell is he doing in my building at 4:30am, let alone holding doors for me? I thanked him anyway and walked upstairs. On the second floor, I catch the eyes of a woman jiggling her keys into her door, and she breaks out in that unmistakable “it’s embarrassingly early in the morning and I’m drunk and feeling highly irresponsible about my life” smile/half-chuckle. The gentleman who let me in downstairs must have been her beau for the evening. So here I was, struggling up the stairs at some heinous hour, eyes bloodshot, clothes generally unkept, body unshowered – and the two of us just had a human moment. There was NOTHING that needed to be said at that moment – our acknowledging the comedy within our similar circumstances transcended any need for further clarification. So we gave each other a subtle nod and laughed a “Good night!” in each other’s direction.
