Opening Scene — The Living Room
You’re sitting on the couch, locked in an American stalemate: You’re not happy with what’s on TV, but you’re too damn lazy to change the channel. When your roommate comes bursting in, screaming, “Shots, shots, shots!” as if Little John was a skinny white guy named Arnold.
He parades his way to the kitchen, slamming a bottle of Tito’s down on the counter and proclaims, “Boys, we’re going out!” before adding, “Tonight’s going to be a fucking movie.”
Wide-eyed, you make the mistake of believing him.
Scene 2 — The Uber Fiasco
After six grueling shots, you, Arnold, and Danny are feeling dangerous. Not actually dangerous — your wacky waving inflatable tube arms make sure of that. But dangerous enough to think about saying hi to someone attractive. Some real hardcore shit.
Arnold slams one more shot and teeters precariously to the edge of sobriety before demanding, “Someone call an uber!” and removes himself from consideration. After all these years, his face still won’t put itself on.
Your eyes flick back and forth like pinballs, sizing Danny up in a frenetic dance between his phone, his body, and your steely resolve. It’s a high-stakes game of chicken, each of you hoping to be the last one standing.
You lunge forward, arm hardly stretching out like a dinosaur, desperately trying to look like you’re making an effort without making an effort. But Danny mirrors your every move, his arms lazy, fluid, and underachieving.
Finally, you feel so embarrassed you cave, grab the phone, and call an Uber. You announce, “I’m sharing it with both of you!” as your little fuck you.
However, they don’t accept.
You enter the Uber, and the driver immediately assures you he has a day job, and this, THIS is just for fun.
Because driving drunk assholes around is better than a beach day and twice as sandy.
So you say thank you, but you don’t know if you mean it.
During the ride, Arnold goes on a rant about a conspiracy theory about lizard people that completely embarrasses the entire human species, and for a moment, you feel so small you wish you’d disappear.
But then, with a triumphant “damnit”, the Uber driver complains about having nowhere to park and offers to let you off nearby. You oblige.
He mentions something about a five-star review as if his car was also a restaurant, complete with gum under the seat.
Scene 3 — The Bar
The bar is packed shoulder to shoulder, like a Human Centipede surgery gone wrong. You think to yourself, if some poor bastard were to drop their phone, it’s a goner — there’s no room to bend down.
You look all around and notice your fellow man. Despite being surrounded by over 300 “unique” people, everyone is more or less wearing the same outfit:
Torn jeans, skin-tight shirt, and the frizzy, I don’t give a fuck haircut.
You feel like a total asshole with your button-down shirt, nice haircut and pants still intact. Shame furrows your face.
The bar comes alive with music you feel in your soul, and you start to dance when two bros unsolicitedly assure you they can drink, and I quote, in their own words, “an absolute fuck load.”
So you nod absently, not sure how to respond but take comfort knowing that if this place were to be flash flooded with vodka — those bastards would keep you alive.
Finally, Arnold decides it’s time to get something to drink, and he’s involving you whether you like it or not.
You wait 15 minutes in line for an overpriced beer, dealing with the shoves and the stress of ordering from the crack of a crowded bar, and then you wait an additional 15 minutes to pay for said beer — as the pen they gave you just doesn’t fucking work. C’est la vie.
You shrink back to the shadows.
Arnold assures you he’s going to pull a chick tonight, even though the only thing he’s ever pulled was his knob. Then he grabs you around your neck and asks. “Isn’t this the best?” with complete sincerity. You want to throw up.
Scene 4 — Late Bar
The bar sways with all its inebriation when you lock eyes with the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. The glowing, neon yellow sign of a food truck that’s selling a big, piping hot pizza. Love never looked so good.
You’re possessed. Like a tractor beam, you float towards the food truck when someone grabs your shoulder.
“Yeah, this is my roommate — Fred,” Arnold says with entirely too much confidence for an introduction.
You turn to see a pack of bar girls whose faces have contorted into a kaleidoscope of reluctant civility. It’s as if someone has taken a handful of social niceties, tossed them into a blender, and hit the “puree” button. Then their leader, a sandy blonde with big blue eyes steps forward.
She hisses, “Who the fuck names their kid Fred? ” and then storms off.
She snaps her finger, and the pack follows.
“Way to go, asshole.” Arnold punches your shoulder and shakes his head before adding.
“Can you call an Uber?”
Scene 5 — The Uber Home
You step outside the bar, admiring the other idiots who are waiting in the same spot for the same Uber.
You watch their heads crane from their phones to the incoming stream of cars as they offer each other comfort, “It’s almost here.”
After a grueling forty minutes of watching your Uber be perpetually 10 minutes away, your chariot arrives like Caesar to the coliseum. You shuffle in.
Once again, the Uber driver assures you he has a day job. You thank him and ask for his dinner specials. It goes over his head.
The driver doesn’t say another word but instead listens to Arnold retell the harrowing story of almost getting a girl’s number and how it almost got him laid.
The story almost ended when he interrupted — “We’re right here!” Before adding — “Actually, can you take us to Taco Bell?”
Scene 6 — The Next Day
You wake up in new clothing. You’re wearing a taco for a shirt, a chalupa for pants, and a half empty bottle of Baha blast as socks.
You sit up like a person who was transported into a new world, head turning left and right, trying to make sense of the senseless.
What the fuck happened?
In the hallway, Arnold is facedown motorboating a Crunchwrap Supreme, and Danny is somewhere asleep on the couch, dead to the world but revived in the story.
You go to pour yourself a glass of water when your head starts pounding harder than a jackass on a jackhammer.
Arnold wakes up chewing his Crunchwrap Supreme when he walks up to you laughing.
“Last night was a movie.”
You just want the credits to end.
Please, like comment and tell me what you think. Do you like going out, would you rather stay home or are you somewhere in the middle?
13 thoughts on “Last Night Was a Movie”
I’m not sure I could be bothered now. I find trying to get through the weekend revellers on a Friday night when I’m headed home from work is bad enough. I guess I got old
If it makes you feel better, I’m right there with you. -currently writing this from the couch
I’m with Brenda! Well, actually, I’m not. I don’t even know Brenda but, if I did, I’m sure we would not go out, together.
Hahaha I like that!
I agree with everyone else. ‘Staying in’ is the new ‘going out’. Funny post!!
Thank you so much! And I m right there with you
To be young.
I’ll leave that to others!
Age is just a number!
Your story reminded me of my college days. I had a friend that when she was drunk everything was “I love you man.” Complete strangers or close friends; it was always, “I love you man.”
Sounds like a night in Iteawon circa 2008. Only we didn’t have crunchwrap Supreme 🥺 Arnold really sounds a lot like my buddy Loper. I hope you have more movie nights!
Thank you so much! I just looked up Iteawon -looks super cool – would love to visit that place. Thanks so much for reading