Jennifer was the first rider that made me realize I need to remember these stories and write them down before they leave my head. She was so perfectly drunk and honest and entertaining that I knew there would be so many more experiences to be shared.
Jennifer was about mid-to-late twenties like me, obviously dressed up with full makeup and blowout hair for an occasion, and really pretty, but spoke with very Valley Girl/annoyed teenager inflections. I picked her up at an Italian restaurant because her boyfriend was being “way too drunk and a total jerk” at her best friend’s birthday party.
“Like, he ALWAYS does shit like this, where we go out with friends and I end up babysitting him. So I was finally like, ‘no – you can take care of your damn self for once! I am NOT going to sit here and watch you hit on the waitress all night!’”
“That sounds terrible…does it happen a lot?” I asked sympathetically.
“Ummmm…only like EVERY time we go out! He has some DUIs, so I end up driving which means I’m ALWAYS the DD which is such bullshit because, like, I want to go out for drinks sometimes, too. So I was like, I don’t care, I’m getting drunk tonight and I’ll figure out how to get home and the asshole can be stuck there all night. Thanks for coming to get me, by the way.”
She went on dramatically with horror stories of other drunk nights where he made out with her friend (as a joke, “but it wasn’t fucking funny!”), of him getting them kicked out of place after place, and other anecdotes I know all too well the ending to: with the embarrassment of justifying him to friends and resentment for ruining what could have been a fun night.
So after 10-15 minutes of venting to me, as I responded with the appropriate head nods, empathetic validations, and “OMG!” exclamations, she finished with “I just don’t know what to do with him.”
“Well – obviously, I don’t know him," I responded hesitantly, not knowing if she actually wanted advice or just a sounding board, "but I’ll tell you from personal experience that you should probably just break up with him…or at least don’t progress into marrying him or moving in together for sure.”
“Oh, I know! We’ve been together, like, 10 years and we’ve broken up before. He’s actually my ex-husband, we just started dating again last month.”
I made an unintentional stunned face at that revelation just as I heard her phone ringing.
“Oh God, now he’s calling me…” she answered her cell and the call progressed like this: “No, fuck you and find your own ride home...Well I don’t care WHO drives you, but you’re not coming to my house after how you acted….Fine, but you’re not staying the night, I have work tomorrow….You’re right, that doesn’t make sense. Maybe you can come over for the night, but you’re sleeping on the fucking couch, don’t even try to get in my bed….unless I come get YOU, but that’s IT…ok see you soon.”
So I sighed, pulled up to the destination of my Google Maps route just as she was hanging up with him. She looked over at me on her way out, rolled her eyes, and said “I know, right?” before she walked up to her house that the alcoholic ex-husboyfriend would soon be entering, too.