I called my friend's ex-girlfriend by his (then) current girlfriend's name. Oops!

i got fired from u-haul.

what kind of fuck-up am i?

Little Atlas Heavyweight wrote:i got fired from u-haul.

That's Weirdness

Richard wrote:

Little Atlas Heavyweight wrote:i got fired from u-haul.

That's Weirdness

i knew it was coming. see my signature?

Does that mean no more free bubble wrap?

My first year of college, I did what most freshmen do - I drank a completely unrealistic amount of alcohol and nearly killed myself. Even worse, I was drinking vodka and Mountain Dew. I'm normally a fairly high-energy person, but at 18-years old, with a belly full of booze and caffeine, I was the goddamn Loony Toons Tasmanian Devil, but without the lovely speaking voice.

Fortunately, the other guys in my dorm suite knew enough to keep me contained there. Wandering out in the wild by myself, I would've been easy prey. Over the course of the night, I managed to:

- Kick one of the university's star baseball players in the knee in an impromptu karate demonstration, risking his career

- Wander into the bathroom, where my suitemates found me leaning against the wall in the general vicinity of the urinal, pants around ankles, hosing down every surface in the room EXCEPT the proper receptacle with a long, stinky stream of piss and unable to stand on my own. This required them to pull up my pants for me, while dodging the unpredictable lawn sprinkler of urine

- Blunder loudly into my own room, where my much more sedate (and at that point non-drinking) roommate was attempting to watch TV peacefully, and undress down to my boxers, yelling something about desperately needing to dance

- Tell one of the more annoying dorm residents that "I don't care what everyone else says, you're not that big an asshole"

- Fall through the shower curtain of the suite bathroom's shower stall, toppling like a tree to the back wall some 4 feet away, nearly fracturing my skull and giving myself a really nasty goose-egg on my forehead. This terrified my roommate, who thought I had a potentially fatal concussion and so did not respond well when he couldn't keep me conscious once the liquor finally caught up with me

- Vomit profusely over the side of my bed, where the effluent found its way into every nook and groove of the metal-framed, prison-style bunk


The hangover the next day was reality-warping. I was sure I'd permanently ruined one or more of my organs. I never did get that bed competely clean and I couldn't look anyone who lived on my floor in the eye for weeks. And believe me, every last one of them knew just how drunk I was that night.

You never let me down, Ty.

Made my day, ta!

Little Atlas Heavyweight wrote:i got fired from u-haul.

what kind of fuck-up am i?

That sucks, but didn't you hate that job anyway?

Getting fired doesn't automatically make you a loser. Unless you got fired in a phenomenally embarrassing way....

As someone else said - 'Take Luck!'

Early college too-much-to-drink stories? I've got one.
When I was nineteen, I lived with my aunt and uncle in London. I was working as an au pair for their kids, it was a pretty sweet gig. One night my homie and I went out to get some mexican food. Over the course of dinner, we drank a pitcher of margarita each, plus I had an extra two pacificos because they're delicious with burritos. Then we went back to his place in Notting Hill (he was living in some American student housing thing), where I had two (skunky) rolling rocks. Another guy who was living there had just gotten back from Paris with a few bottles of absinthe, so I had about half a coffee mug of that. Then we smoked a spliff the size of my middle finger while I shouted something about Jesus. Oh, and Jack Daniels was involved somewhere in there too.
I'm a pretty scrawny guy, and I've never been the heaviest drinker, so needless to say this shit hit me hard. I excused myself from the front stoop to go inside, where my stomach was suddenly wracked with intense, gurgly pain. I couldn't tell which exit things were trying to take, but I had enough wherewithal to make the right choice: Rather than boot in the toilet and crap my pants, I sat on the toilet and booted all the fuck over the floor in front of me.
Needless to say, I started feeling like I should get home. So I walked to my aunt and uncle's place in Holland Park. When I got to the door, I couldn't get the key to work. In fact, I broke the lock in such a way that I would have to come through the back door. In order to get to the back door, you have to come in through the garden (which I didn't have a key to). So I got to the garden door and thought about how I was going to get inside. The solution I came up with was to prop open the mail slot with my headphones, get a foothold in there, and boulder my way to the top of a fifteen foot wall. Despite severe fatigue and innebriation, it fucking worked! I probably should've broken my neck. So I jumped off the top of the wall, really hurt my feet on impact (chuck taylors), and stumbled into bed about 5 am.
The next morning I woke up at 8 and had to change diapers. My aunt gave me the day off after she noticed a.) I was sweating booze. b.) my shoes were covered in vomit.
That's the story of how I got my first real hangover.
Those students never knew it was me who booted all over their bathroom.

Ahem...this happened a couple of months ago - the shame has just about receded enough to post...
My girlfriend and I went to a dance at a rather posh hotel - a converted castle, somewhere in the Scottish highlands. Over the course of the evening we both drank a hell of a lot, and although I was feeling fine whenwe left to go to bed, by the time we reached our bedroom I pretty much passed out. At least, I don't remember making a conscious effort to get into bed. At some point in the middle of the night, I got up to go for a piss in the en-suite bathroom in our room. However, and this is a crucial distinction, instead of turning right into the bathroom I turned left and exited our room into the corridor. The door clicked shut behind me, and I realised that I was locked out. Then I realised that I was wearing only a shirt. And I was still bursting for a piss.

I immediately tried to "quietly" knock on the door to wake my girlfriend - absolutely no fucking chance. The next thought in my booze-addled brain was to find another toilet. I was aware that there might be other people around - (for other people, read "the entire rest of my year at University - people who I still have to see on a daily basis for another 2 1/2 years),
Realising that my semi-nudity was in questionable taste, I quickly took my shirt off and fashioned it into a crude, penis-covering apron. Thus-attired, I set off in search for a place to piss.

The rest of the story is somewhat sketchy. I definitely didn't find a toilet, yet I definitely pissed somewhere, possibly in a cupboard.
I met someone, a girl who I recognised and spoke to at the time, but who I now can't remember. No-one has mentioned anything to me since though, and I haven't heard any rumours circulating about a hairy half-naked ape-man rampaging around the corridors, yelling and urinating. I think my saving grace was that everone else was as drunk as I was, and most of them were busy sleeping it off.

I eventually arrived back at my room, now clad in a towel I had found outside of someone's room, and proceeded to bang on the door, all pretense of stealth now abandoned. After a couple of minutes of this I was greeted by an absolutely furious 'missus', who demanded to know what the fuck I was up to.

She's forgiven me now. And although the hotel was 'posh' and looked nice from outside, it was actually pretty crappy. I still feel bad for pissing on their carpet though.