This week, after an inspired burst of sneakiness, I wangled my way onto the bar committee for Welfare Freshers’ Drinks. Normally, I would rather die than work behind the bar. However, two major considerations had enabled me to overcome my distaste for the job: (1) the chance to see Gorgeous Gap-Year Fresher; (2) free alcohol.
Met my best friend Danny, the LGBT rep, to start getting things ready.
“A little glass of red to kick things off won’t hurt, will it?” Danny asked, casually filling a large wine glass up to the brim.
For a moment, I paused doubtfully, but then –
“Nah,” I muttered, following suit.
Two hours later, people arrived to find the bar decorated somewhat haphazardly, and Danny and I desperately aiming to avoid slurring our words. But as the evening wore on and the level of drunkenness rose, all restraint was thrown to the winds.
Upon Gorgeous Gap-Year Fresher entering the bar, he was immediately accosted by a flurry of first-year girls. My drunken logic did not approve of this, so I staggered determinedly towards them in order to interrupt.
“Jason,” I announced loudly, swaying slightly. “As a member of the bar committee, I invite you to share in my free alcohol.”
Bemused looks ran round the circle, and I suddenly became doubtful. Were bar staff actually entitled to free drinks? I noticed our JCR female welfare rep bearing down on me with a face like thunder.
“Umm, perhaps I should get back to work,” I murmured rapidly, turning to beat a hasty retreat.
But it was too late. The welfare rep’s hand clamped down on my shoulder and – due to a cocktail of remorse and too much red wine – I was beginning to feel sick.
“How much have you and Danny actually drunk this evening?” she demanded.
“Err…” I was feeling increasingly ill, but a distraction at the other end of the bar made her interrogative gaze shift away from me. People were screaming and fleeing from the bar counter, and it was then that I realised that Danny – with a glass of red wine still clamped in his hand – was throwing up over the till.
Welfare rep released her hold on me and sprang forward, yelling with a warlike cry – “Don’t people realise how expensive tills are to clean?” Unsteadily, I turned to Gorgeous Gap-Year Fresher. There suddenly seemed to be three of him.
“Are you all right?” he asked cautiously, placing a wary hand on my arm.
And in a spectacular coup-de-grace, I was sick all over his shoulder.
Diary of an Oxford Scuzz
