I Trashed My Uber Rating By Puking And Shitting In Two Different Cars And My Life Has Never Been More Of A Joke
I am not a good drunk.
Never have been, never will be. In college I used to black out like nobody’s business at least four nights a week, but now I generally avoid shots like the plague because I know after one or two (or maybe six or eight, who’s counting?) I get sloppier than Tara Reid’s plastic surgeon.
This story isn’t about how I actually handled my liquor decently well on a Saturday night though, it’s about how I tanked my boyfriend’s Uber rating down to a one-star the morning after drinking.
You see, while my friends know me as an infamous blackout, my boyfriend instead knows me for my hangovers because all I do is dry heave, dry heave some more (I almost never puke the morning after drinking), then guilt him into buying me McDonald’s so I feel better. Sunday was no exception: we woke up at 11:00 and the first thing out of my mouth was “Let’s go eat cheesesteaks!”
Easy enough request, yes? As I’m getting dressed for our adventure I dry heave once or twice, but as I said that’s nothing really out of the ordinary. 20 minutes or so later, we’re in an Uber on our way to Gluttonville, population: Cheesesteaks.
Except that’s when it hits me.
For the first 15 minutes or so of the ride we were stuck in traffic and our top speed was never more than 10 mph. I’m sort of nauseous at this point but like I said, I only dry heaved twice – that’s unheard of for me. That’s like Ramsay Bolton chopping his own dick off, putting a leash around his neck and handing it to Theon, saying “Okay that was fun, now it’s your turn to do me!” – it never, ever fucking happens. Which is why I thought I was in the clear…that is, until we make it out of traffic and the car begins to pick up speed.
You know that feeling in the pit of your stomach where it’s like someone is twisting your gut 360 degrees in their fist, then letting it go and watching it rapidly twirl back around? You know the vomit is coming, but at this point you think you can hold it in because the hot sweats haven’t hit yet…except oh wait, there they are! I’ve now reached the point of no return and have three options: ask the driver to pull over so I can puke, puke IN the Uber or stick my head outside the window of the Uber and puke.
I weakly ask, “Sir, can you pull over?”
I wait five seconds. No response.
Okay, fine – I now only have TWO options.
So I stick my head out the window and let it spew.
This is really just a rhetorical question so I can continue with my story, but have you ever thought to yourself “What the hell am I doing with my life?” Of course you have – but probably when you were younger. When you were in college, throwing up in your freshman dorm after your first night of heavy drinking, or maybe after coming home from a dead-end job one night that you only took so you could pay the bills.