Allow me to set the scene. This past weekend, I had to take care of my extremely intoxicated best friend. This wasn’t just your usual help-the-drunk-girl-get-home-and-put-her-to-bed sort of night. Oh, how I wish it was that. This night was the type of night where on three separate occasions, my roommate and I genuinely and actively considered calling an ambulance to come and pump my friend’s stomach so she didn’t die from alcohol poisoning. Some of the highlights included:
- Three of my friends and me literally carrying (more like dragging) my best friend home from the bar.
- My BFF vomiting on my shirt/legs/shoes and all over herself.
- Stripping my BFF out of her puke-covered clothes and bathing her to get all the vomit off of her.
- Sticking my fingers down her throat (again) to try and get some of the alcohol out of her system.
- Dressing her in pajamas, washing her face, and brushing her hair before bed.
- Staying up with her for three hours while she cried, vomited, and yelled at me, my roommate, God, and basically anyone else she could think of.
- Helping her vomit for a third time.
- Again, cleaning the vomit off her and brushing her teeth.
- Putting her to bed at long last, sometime around 5:30 a.m.
Clearly, this was a hellish night, there is no denying it. But I love my friend; I really do, so if it came down to it, I would do it again in a heartbeat. We all have bad nights. Sure, maybe we all don’t have nights like the one I described above, but we have all worried our friends at one point or another and needed their help taking care of ourselves. As long as it’s not an often occurrence, we suck it up and deal with it because we know they would do the same for us.
That’s not the point of why I’m so upset. The reason is because of what my friend (still very drunk) said to me the next morning. This, might I add, is a direct quote:
Drunk, asshole friend: “I really appreciate you guys taking care of me last night, but can I just offer one small critique.”
Me, in a state of disbelief: “You cannot offer a critique, but if you feel so inclined, you can shut the fuck up and go back to bed.”
Her: “You put my pajamas on over my wet underwear and let me sleep in it. That’s how you get yeast infections.”
Are. You. Fucking. Kidding. Me.
She could’ve woken up in a ditch, or in a stranger’s bed, or with her two front teeth, credit card, and iPhone missing if it wasn’t for me. And this bitch was complaining about a stupid yeast infection?
Here’s the thing. I took care of my friend’s drunken ass that night. Actually, scratch that. To even classify the state of inebriation that my friend was in as just simply “drunk” would be insulting to everyone out there who can reach a happy level without almost dying. What my friend was can more accurately be described as comatose and I took care of her. I bathed her, dressed her, puked her, and cared for her, all while I was still very much drunk myself. This was no simple task and if you’re asking if I would have rather been getting dicked down by the hot guy I was chatting up at the bar as opposed to getting vomited on, the answer is dick every time. But the decision is always friend first.
I can’t believe this needs to be said, but one of the ten commandments of best friendship is “Thou shalt never critique the person who cared for your drunk ass.” In reference to my situation, I gave up my sleep, sanity, and dick to care for a 110 lb girl whose smell most closely resembled that of a 6-month homeless man. To add insult to injury, now I need to take notes on ways I can improve in the future? Bitch, there better not need to be a reason for me to improve in the future. Do you want to know why? Because you better fucking not get so drunk that I need to repeat the above steps to keep you from dying of alcohol poisoning, that’s fucking why.
It’s really quite simple. If your friends are good friends, they won’t fault you for having one night where you just really fucked up and needed to be babied, just as I don’t fault my friend. But the next morning? You better be on your hands and knees thanking the people that so generously dealt with your shenanigans instead of doing any number of preferable activities. And above all else, you should never, ever, under any circumstance, offer critiques on the way they cared for you.
Unless of course you don’t mind getting bitch-slapped right across the face. If that’s the case, critique away..
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