“If all of our sins, bad habits, and poor choices were permanently inked into our skin like tattoos, we would all dress quite modestly.” 

Richelle E. Goodrich, Slaying Dragons

This week, I’m still avoiding the shitty post. So, here’s another distraction! A short story on why you should never (never!) eat an excessive amount of Jell-O shots. Let’s begin!

This story takes place in September of the great year 2015. I was actually no longer in the employment of the liquor industry because of a few reasons. First, I had decided to quit because of horrible bosses. Yeah, they do literally ruin everything. Second, because of said horrible bosses, I had figured out a way to take some time off to “work on my creativity” or whatever that was supposed to mean. Basically, I was gonna try to write. Kind of what I’m doing now. (Spoiler Alert: It did NOT work out.) So in July, I had resigned and left the place I loved so dearly behind. Peace out, Bitches! I was still very close with my liquor store family, but after I quit, we didn’t hang out as much. I mean, this is very typical when you leave a group… even with the best intentions of nothing ever changing, things change. It wasn’t just me, either. The group was growing up and making progress with their lives. It was good. Luckily, we had one last opportunity to completely fuck our lives up with absolutely mortifying memories that none of us really remember.

At the liquor store, we had a tip jar. For a long time, I don’t even know what we did with the tips. Honestly. But at some point, we started pooling the tips in the cash drawer to save up for “something big” of our choosing. When it got big enough, the manager would let us choose what we wanted to do with the money. We ended up with over a grand at some point, and it was voted that we would rent a cabin at Crescent Lake for a few days and have a giant liquor store party. You could stay for as long or as little time as you wanted. Because I was a part of the tips, I was still able to participate in the activities, even though I was no longer employed and the owner was not speaking to me at that point. Heh. The cabin was rented and we set the dates for September. I don’t remember exact dates. That’s asking way too much of me.

The owner provided all the booze we could ever desire and he made a huge Costco run to buy all the food we would ever need, so we literally just had to bring what we needed for the night/nights we were staying. Not everyone could stay the entire time because some unluckies had to actually go back to work slinging booze. Sucks to suck geeks!

We were all looking forward to hanging out again and I think we all had pretty high expectations for this cabin. Friends, food, liquor, swimming, sun, and relaxing for a few days… you know? It was bound to be fun, whatever the outcome. The day of arrival, my liquor store bestical and I showed up early in the evening. We were the first ones there because I have massive anxiety and I didn’t want to feel weird showing up after everyone else. We waited for the “responsible” coworker with the money to get the key so we could check the place out. It was your standard lake cabin, I guess? I’d never rented a lake cabin before, so I didn’t really know what to expect. It’s… basic. But they provided all the basic necessities. Bedding, kitchen shit, whatnot. We went down to the lake and walked around for a bit until a few other people arrived. I spent a bunch of time looking at rocks because that’s what I do to pass the time. Don’t judge me. I don’t think we really knew what to do in the beginning. I guess we probably waited around gossiping and playing around on our phones. I’m assuming we had our phones at this point. Later on, our phones magically disappear and there’s no evidence this night ever took place.

Because no photographs or evidence exist from this night, I had to steal this image off of the internet. This is what I imagine the beach looked like. It’s the same lake, so… good enough.

After some time, the boss man and manager arrived. They were dating. It was weird. It made things complicated. Ew. But that’s a story for another time. The important thing here is they arrived. And with them, they brought… life! And death. So much death. But not literal death, because fuck, what kind of story do think I’m telling here? Let’s just say death in this case is bad decisions. SO. MANY. BAD. DECISIONS. But hey… that’s alcohol for ya, amiright?

We unloaded all the food and drinks and stocked the cabin. Basics first, people! Then we started cooking up some food. Burgers and brats and stuff like that. Then, we made some drinks. (Oh, who am I kidding? We made the drinks FIRST, duh!) And I suppose it started off like any typical liquor store party we had before, except, then… the boss man brought out some Jell-O shots. Cool. We like Jell-O shots! So we started eating them. Just sitting at the picnic table, eating Jell-O shots with a spoon. Bad decision #1. At some point, I decided to eat one or two single burger patties. No bun. Just the patties. Maybe one had a slice of cheese on it? AND THAT IS LITERALLY ALL I ATE THE ENTIRE NIGHT. Bad decision #2. I was feeling okay. A little buzzed, but doing okay. Having a good time with my buddies, drinking, eating Jell-O, laughing, talking shit, hey where’s my phone? After some time, we realized we ate the entire tray of Jell-O shots. Alright. Oops. Our manager then proceeds to inform us that they weren’t just regular Jell-O shots. They were Everclear Jell-O shots. Hmm. Probably a nice little detail to have known before we ate the entire tray, but okay. This calls for another drink! We didn’t have any shot glasses. All we had were red solo cups. So we took “shots” of Tito’s vodka in a red solo cup. Bad decision #3. It was not a shot. It was a lot of vodka going into my mouth hole and I’m pretty sure it was that exact moment I instantly blacked out. I don’t know what happened after that.

I ended up in the bedroom. I’m pretty sure I made it there on my own, because I knew I was not in a good state and needed to lie down. Blackout-drunk Megan is semi-reasonable, generally, and I usually know when things are going downhill and what I need to do. I also usually desperately call out for Mark in a child’s voice because I apparently turn into a toddler when I’m blackout drunk. Things weren’t peachy for me in the bedroom though, either, because I obviously felt like I was going to hurl and I tried to make it to the bathroom, which was directly across the hall. Spoiler: I didn’t make it. Instead, I just puked on the door. And I guess I figured that was good enough of an effort so I turned around and puked on the bed. Then I laid down in my own meat vomit and passed out.

At some point, I woke up just enough to hear two of my coworkers find my meaty vomit (surprise!) and they were either so drunk or just fucking rad enough to clean it up for me. Good peeps. Then I passed out again. A lot happened that night. Boss man and manager left shortly after (or before?) I blacked out and spewed meat vomit everywhere, so that was cool. A bunch of other craziness happened that involved skinny-dipping, a group shower, and the toilet getting broken. Sorry I missed out on that. I slept off my Everclear drunkenness and woke up somewhere around 1 am. Amazingly, things had calmed down by then but there were still a few people awake. I covered up my meaty mess so I didn’t have to sleep in it the rest of the night because I was still drunk enough where I didn’t want to deal with it. I got up, ate some pizza rolls, and then went back to sleep.

The following morning, it was The Shame Show. No one wanted to stay any longer than they had to. I took the comforter outside and flung off as much meat vomit as I could and then tried to clean up as much of the remainder smell left over inside. Luckily, I had a small can of Odoban in my backpack, although I’m not sure how good of a job it did. Oh, those poor cleaning ladies. Only one coworker decided to stay the rest of the time, bless his heart. He packed up all the remaining food and booze and split it up between those who wanted it. The rest of us bailed as soon as we could. We wanted to try to forget the remaining 5% memory we had left of that night as quickly as possible. It’s probably a really good thing none of us decided to take pictures or keep our phones on us during this entire endeavor. I imagine multiple phones would have been lost and a few of us would want the evidence of the night burned. I don’t even know where my phone was the entire night. Maybe phones were lost. I can’t fucking remember. Oh, liquor. You did us dirty.

“Why must this be so mortifying? Oh, that’s right. Because its my life.” 

Tessa Dare, Romancing the Duke

So that’s it. Looking back, it’s hilarious. At the time… fucking mortifying. But, even the following day I could laugh pretty heavily about vomiting meat all over a cabin. I mean, that is pretty funny. And compared to some of my other coworkers, pretty minimal on the embarrassment scale. Not nearly as funny as breaking a toilet, though. I mean, have you ever been so drunk you broke a toilet? That’s a pretty solid memory if you ask me. Regardless, the lesson here is this: Don’t ever eat a tray full of Jell-O shots with a spoon. Especially if they were made by your ex-boss who hates you. They could have been made with Everclear and that is NEVER a good decision.

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