Its Saturday so this is going to be a long one, a very long one as I look below at the three pages I have written that started as just a couple of paragraphs – Grab a cup of coffee (or as NY’ers say it cawwfeee) and get comfortable. As I sit buried in a Panera, sharing a table with a complete stranger (who kindly offered to share his table with me and my laptop because pretty much every seat in this huge place is taken) a new topic has come to my mind. In my view around Panera, about 4-5 people are actively texting or playing with their phones which inspires me to take a little trip back in time to the far off time of 2003. There are a lot of college students in here doing work and trying to be sophisticated by drinking whatever coffee drink is coolest now, while I rely on good old faithful – Iced Black Coffee – the John Wayne of Coffees, but I digress. Back to 2003…
I was entering my junior year of college with much confidence. I had finally figured out the study habits that could allow me to just fly under the radar and allow me not to lose the scholarship I earned when I applied (as a side note I used to be smart in high school). I had successfully negotiated my way from making pizzas to working at a local/college bar called the Blue Snake. By the time junior year rolled around I had won a bartending job a couple nights a week. I would like to say it was by skill and charm, but mostly due to the fact that I would be the only student bartender (everyone else was locals), the boss liked the way I made pizzas, and I could effectively deal with the students on the hellish wing night. On the athletic front, I had managed to work to the top ranks of the schools crew team, along with my partner in crime, Trackpants. Trackpants was a year older than me and probably a lot smarter because he was a business school guy, but I never let him live down the fact that everyone told him he looked like my little brother. We had taken over the club crew team and were doing well. In short, my junior year was shaping up to be a pretty good year.
Now in a traditional story, you would expect to next read of a disastrous story or some event that required me to overcome overwhelming odds. There is none of that here. This is mainly a reflective story, which as a side effect makes me miss college. But lets get to the point before I lose my few readers. Although I wound up dating a girl for the entire second semester of my junior year (who was awesome), I was mostly a very active bachelor for the entire fall semester. You can take the word “active” however you would like it, but just remember I was a bartender and an upperclassman. I am not outstanding looking, but with the influence of alcohol and some really bad judgment I was able to woo a couple ladies. Thanks alcohol!! Like many other guys at my school weekends, which ran Thursday to Sunday, consisted off goofing off during the day and the going out and getting hammered at night. Nighttime drinking consisted of pregaming (at either a dorm room or at someone’s house/apartment), partying at a house/basement party, then either going to a bar (if you could get home), pizza, and then going home. During the entire night phone calls would be made back and forth with the “potential target” for the night, ie: a college co-ed. If you were really good, and some guys were you could juggle multiple “campaigns” a night, but had to avoid mixing the girls up as this was a small school. Even worse was the dreaded instance when a girl caught you on a night you were chasing here with another co-ed, instantly cock-blocking you from both opportunities.
This probably isn’t a revolutionary article to anyone reading this – this is what college was for anyone who graduated between 1999-2005, with one important distinction – no one really used the text message. Think about it. How much do you text now versus when you were in college? Phones were big and bulky, just smaller than the Zach Morris version. It wasn’t an obvious conclusion that just as everyone had kidneys they must have a cell phone. I personally didn’t get a cell phone until the month before I left for college and I didn’t even use it that much my freshman year in college. When you were out on a weekend you used you cell phone to call others with cell phones, but unless you were especially tech-savy there was no texting. We knew no other way and it seemed very normal.
Fast forward to 2008. Everyone has cell phones. My little cousins, who I don’t know the exact age of, got their first cell phones sometime around 4th/5th grade. Everyone has a cell phone regardless of age. Hell some people have two cell phones and a Blackberry. Not only that, but cell phones are getting smaller and way more advanced. I recently renewed my cell phone contract and was able to get a new phone. Now I am an easy guy to impress with technology. However, my new cell phone (which opens both ways) has Madden 2008, Internet browsing capability, and allows me to watch TV, comedy, music videos, news and best of all Sportscenter – and here is the kicker, its not an iPhone, iTouch or any of those new-fangled fancy phones. It’s just a regular phone. Coupled with what I call the “Cell Phone Infection” is the text message explosion. Everyone recognizes the text message beep from Verizon, and everyone gets tons of text messages. I recently had to move to the unlimited text message plan because I found I was sending 200 a month, which was absolutely astonishing since I don’t text nearly as much as my friends. Text has gone so far in that commercials for wireless providers focus just on texts. Even my dad learned how to text.
So I found myself asking – “What is the most significant contribution of the text message?” In 2.2 seconds I came up with the answer, “Drunken memory recall”. You spend a Friday or Saturday night out. There is dinner (with wine and beer), pregaming (with wine, beer, shots, and mixed drinks) and then going out (need I list everything we drink while out??). Like me you are a least buzzed, and probably very drunk. If you are in a relationship and without your other half you text message then endlessly about how much you miss them or about what you want to do to them sexually. Very amusing. Not as amusing as the world of the single text messager. The only thing that drunken people want more than dinner food/pizza is sex. Having a science degree I think it is some interaction of alcohol with your hormones, but nobody has ever attempted to study it. The drunken quest for sex is a very simple one. You search for willing bodies at the bar/party you are at. If this looks like a viable alternative, then you go after it – sometimes excessively which creeps out the other party.
When it looks like your immediate environment won’t support your drunken sexual drive, you turn to your phone and the fun starts. You search through your extensive list of contacts, thinking of which members of the opposite sex are still single, in your vicinity, and who you haven’t alienated or pissed off too much. You send them a text such as a “Hi!!!” where the extra denote your drunkenness. Maybe you customize the message by saying “Hey You!” or get bold and say “What you up to??” The real pros (and you know who you are), send this as a mass text to anywhere from 4-20 possible targets. This texting message method is called the “Fisherman method”. You throw out multiple lines/cast many nets and hope something/someone bites. Unlike a fisherman who need to catch lots to sustain their livelihood, you just need one. However, all a fisherman needs to is reel in the line or bring up the net. The “Fisherman Texter” needs to initiate playful banter convincing the other party that they are drunk, miss them, want to see them, arrange a place to meet and ultimately seal the deal. This task is further complicated by your BAC (blood alcohol content). The drunker you are, the more typos there are in your text and the harder it gets. Thank god for the wonderful person who invented T9.
NOTE: I am now on my second cup of black iced coffee and typing so fast the lady next to me keeps staring at me in some combination of curiosity, amazement and creepiness. Excellent.
How the rest of the night turns out is different for everyone. You could be successful in the bar you are in, successfully in picking up someone via text or can ultimately fail. Ultimate failure is the most dangerous scenario because you often find yourself texting those people in your “DO NOT TEXT” list like ex girlfriends/boyfriends. Regardless, the sun comes up the next morning. You have a hangover, a taste of pizza (or in my case Johnny Rockets) in your mouth. If someone is next to you, then you don’t need much clarification on what happened last night. If you wake up alone in your apartment or someone’s couch, you will most likely question what happened last night. I like to say I have developed an acute sense of finding my way home, using multiple methods of transportation, no matter how drunk I am. Just like a dog who strays from home. Some other professional drinkers have developed this ability. Cheers to you. You have a headache, grab a bottle of water/Gatorade and run through the checklist of last night:
“I got home, so that’s a big step” – SCORE!
“What did I eat last night” – this is easily found out my looking at your teeth or clothes
“Did I bring anyone home?”- Look around the apartment for people or clothes that aren’t yours
“How much did I drink” - How hung-over are you?
“Did I make an ass of myself” – Probably, but consult your roommate or friends
These simple questions may jog the memory of what you did last night, but ultimately everyone turns to their phone and checks two things – the call log and the message menu.
Who did you call?
- Roommate because you are lost/can’t get into your building
- Possible hook ups because you were too drunk to text after 12 drinks
- An ex or two leaving vague, weird messages that will only hurt the very miniscule friendship you have now
- Friends who were around because you wanted to stay out and close the bars
You check each call to see if you just left a message (~45 seconds) or if it was a 5-minute call that you had with an ex. Either way you don’t remember.
Who did you text?
Yes – text is amazing because everything you said and received is saved in your phone. It’s like a drunk CSI unit, nothing gets by it. You could have texted a haiku or limerick and it would have it saved. You can see that your texts in the beginning of the night were coherent and tame, but as the night goes on they get sloppy and sexually driven. Although you don’t remember them, your phone comes to the rescue by instantly bringing them back up. Ah the wonders of the cell phone. If only everything could be like this. Cell phones will get more advanced and in 5 years I wouldn’t be surprised if we could video-conference. What would be really cool would be the ability for your cell phone to monitor your BAC. With each text your signature would reveal how drunk you were. How cool would that be??
After re-reading this post, I realize it may not have been my best because it is freaking long with a lot of rambling and too much back-story. This is probably because all I have had today is black coffee and cheerios, but c’est la vie. The ultimate message from the post – cell phones help us recount and remember our drunken shame from previous nights. Maybe one day we will be able to hear our phone calls from previous nights. That would be hilarious.
And now the officially Drunken Polar Bear Sign off….
Brrrr….Beer.
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