My Only San Diego Story Where I Don’t Get Drunk

San Diego- It's not just a whale's vagina...

When I worked at the school in San Diego that shall remain nameless (I’ll give you a hint: they just joined the Big East) it was basically four straight years of drunken debauchery.  8 years after I left I’m still paying off credit card bills from the bar tabs I ran up 5-6 nights a week.  But I don’t regret any of it (well, maybe I wish I had a little more game and could’ve nailed a few more of those lovely SoCal girls).  This story, however, is one of the few stories I have that doesn’t involve me winding up shitfaced drunk.  But don’t worry, I promise it’s still worth reading! also has one of the more beautiful skylines in America.

It was Friday morning, the day before our first home football game.  You’d think I’d be excited when I woke up, but instead I was still hurting from the night before.  Not hungover or anything, I took it fairly easy, but it was a long night nonetheless.  We had a birthday party for Country  and there were about six of my students out, all of them but Tripod looking hot.  There were also people from work, including Wayne The Mormon and some girl that had been throwing herself at him for a couple weeks.  On top of all that, there were maybe twenty athletes there, which made my presence very inappropriate.

But this isn’t going to be one of my typical stories of drunken debauchery.  Like I said, I didn’t drink that much, but I did have to deal with Country getting severely intoxicated; Tripod and one of my new employees getting freaky on the dance floor; and my student G-Man showing up shitfaced and getting into it with his ex-girlfriend/varsity swimmer/my friend Erica.  So after we closed the bar down at 2, I was trying to round everyone up to figure out who shouldn’t be driving, while Erica hung on my arm about to cry because G-Man was being a drunken asshole (I love that guy), when all of a sudden G-Man wants to talk to her.  I tried to dissuade him, told him to sober up and call her tomorrow, but he insisted, and the dumb girl sent her friends home so she could go with him.  To make a long story short, I ended up driving Tripod, G-Man and his three roommates, and Erica across the beach to G-Man’s place, where we had one more drink, everyone else started breaking out the pot, G-Man and Erica disappeared back to his room to “talk” (not to be seen again), and I didn’t get home until after 3.

So I rolled into work about 9:30 and the day begins.  Won’t bore you with details, but this is a very stressful time.  Normally, the day before a football game we take a crew down to the stadium and we all put in about four or five hours doing stuff so Saturday will be an easier day.  Well, the Padres were playing this night, so we couldn’t do that, which means we’re already behind schedule.  And to top it all off, someone decided to schedule our annual cross country meet and a soccer game on the same day.  At a BCS school that wouldn’t be a big deal, but since it takes our entire workforce to run a football game it poses a major problem.

It was quickly becoming a miserable day with all of us running in different directions, and it’s not helping that my coworker Joe (Eddie Munster we call him, because that’s exactly what he looks like) is a complete moron.  He fucked up about four things (including my lunch order) before I finally just blew up at him in the office.  It was classic.  He was whining about how late he was going to be working and I said (in front of about eight people), “No, you’re going to go home early tonight and get some rest, because if you pull any of this shit tomorrow I’ll fucking kill you.”  A hush fell over the entire office as people stopped to see if I was joking.  I wasn’t.

Again, won’t bore you with details, but thanks to Joe’s fuck-ups we were hours behind on everything.  Had to go down to Balboa Park (a notorious gay spot in San Diego) to set up for the cross country meet.  It was very disturbing (I swear I heard two guys fucking in the bushes) and we were there until dark, so I was getting pretty livid.  Plus I still had laundry to do for tomorrow’s game, and I was starving due to the aforementioned lunch debacle.  We finally got back to campus after 8pm and had a quick bite to eat.  My boss went home because he was getting up at 3am to run the cross country meet, leaving just me and Joe.  I started loading all our vans for the trip down to the stadium in the morning (actually I was shifting contents from one van to another because of another of Joe’s fuckups).

Finally got home after midnight and had to do a quick load of laundry before going to bed just after 2.

Imagine driving this at 5 in the morning with drunks flying past you at 60+ mph...

Let me tell you, my 4:30am alarm was not met with a smile.  I stumbled out of bed cursing, threw on some clothes and drove to campus.  There I picked up our department’s new prized toy, an electric car.  These carts are really nothing more than glorified golf carts.  They go 25 mph (with a governor on them so they can’t go faster) and are legal on all streets with a speed limit of 35 or less, but they’re open and flimsy like golf carts so they’re not what you would call safe.  So at 5 in the morning, with the dawn just barely breaking, I’m driving one of these carts the five miles or so to Qualcomm Stadium on a road with a speed limit of 45.  Drunks were flying by me at 60+ and I was seriously thinking I was going to die.  I made it to the stadium a little after 5:30 and started my day.

With my boss at the cross country meet I was the man in charge until about 1pm, and we were scrambling from the get-go.  But I persevered, providing fearless leadership to my army of hot girls dressed in short shorts and tight tank tops.  Things went so well that, despite the fact that the field wasn’t even painted for a football game until after 2:00, we had all our shit pretty much wired except for a few minor glitches.

The game was a shootout.  We lacked depth and our defense sucked, but goddamn our offense was exciting.  Before the day was done our QB had passed for over 500 yards, we had one receiver with 296 and another with 150-some.  Unfortunately, after jumping out to a 22-0 lead we faltered and ran out of gas and lost 39-28.  But it sure was exciting.

So postgame cleanup began about 10:45.  This is always a tedious process since everyone is tired after a very long day, pissed off after another demoralizing loss, and generally wondering why they’re here when they could be out getting drunk.  I was doing surprisingly well considering I’d been working for 17 hours straight and awake roughly 35 of the last 37 hours.

We got cleaned up in near record time and were out just a little before 1am.  I still had to drive that damn cart back to campus but I was determined to make last call.  So I grabbed what I needed out of my bag and stuffed it in the glove box (the only secure area of the cart) and left the rest of my stuff (change of clothes, etc.) in one of the vans for Monday.  Tripod and I piled into the cart and we rolled down the hill to the bar.  We pulled into the parking lot and the drunks started hollering at us, making fun of our cart.  We found a parking spot and dashed in just in time for last call.  Some of the department staff were there commiserating the loss, and Wayne The Mormon said the first round was on him, so of course I ordered a double gin & tonic.  It was oh-so-fucking-good, and although I still didn’t feel tired I was so deliriously punch drunk that I might as well have been hammered.  I was shamelessly ogling girls, spewing profanities about all the people that had pissed me off in the past two days (some of whom were still in the bar), and generally making a total ass out of myself.

We finally got kicked out at 2 (after I had managed just two drinks) and I headed for the cart to drive back to campus.

And it was only then that I realized that when I grabbed my stuff I had forgotten one vital thing: my keys.  So my car was sitting on campus and I couldn’t get in it.  And I couldn’t get into my apartment either.  Son of a bitch.  Must have been more tired than I thought.  I got someone to give Tripod a ride home and started the 9 mile journey home in the electric cart.  I had to drive right through campus, and it was utter chaos.  Frat parties and drunk people all over the streets.  They were screaming at me as I cruised past in my electric cart, and more than once some shitfaced kid tried to run into the street and jump into the cart, so I was weaving down the street like an obstacle course.  It was madness.

I finally made it home about 3.  Pulled the cart around the side of the building, scraping bushes as I go, until I was right under my second-floor patio.  Climbed on top of the cart, jumped up to grasp the rails of my patio, hauled myself up, busted the screen door open, and entered my apartment.  Then I had to go out the front door and park the cart before going back inside.

By this time I was starving.  I don’t think I had eaten for at least ten hours.  So I popped a frozen dinner in the microwave.  When it was ready I settled into bed to watch a little Sportscenter while my dinner cooled down…

Imagine waking up next to this 10 hours after it came out of the microwave.

…I woke around 8 in the morning, my head laying next to my untouched microwave dinner.  I’m lucky I didn’t fall asleep in it.  It was disgusting.  I set it on my nightstand and went back to bed until the Bears game started at 10.

And that’s the story of my 23-hour day.  Roughly 40 hours of work in a span of just over 42 hours.  (I was getting paid for 30 hours a week at the time.)  Needless to say, I got drunk six straight days the next week!



  1. All that was needed to make this night complete was you yelling at the drunks to GET OFF THE LAWN!!!


  2. […] Single White Alcoholic Seeks Same […]

  3. I have no idea what birthday that was but I do vaguely remember the cart part…

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