Last night, we went to a game night with a number of friends from Heather's theater company. We held a game night about 4-5 months ago with the same group, and it was a great time. As that night ended, we all pledged to get together soon and have just as fun a time. But it was tough to get this group together again due to crazy schedules, bad timing, etc. Finally, we were able to get together last night for our long-awaited game night.
When we arrived at our friends' apartment, there was a couple who hadn't been at the previous game night. For the sake of this story, they will be renamed Jack and Jill. Heather knows Jack and Jill through the theater, but I had never met them before. They seemed nice enough, but were much more interested in doing Jagermeister shots than anything else. I had about 3 shots with them and was feeling it pretty quickly. I stopped and began nursing a beer so I could function and play games. I mean, we are at a game night. That is the purpose of being there.
But Jack and Jill wanted to continue doing Jager shots. At every opportunity, Jack would ask, "Jager?" And it seemed like Jill was more than willing to join him. A few other people had a shot or two, but for the most part, it was Jack and Jill doing the drinking. The new bottle of Jager they opened just two hours earlier was soon down to just a few drops.
We finally sat down to play the first game, a new game that Heather and I had only played once. As I tried to explain the directions to the rest of the party, Jill was yelling and carrying on about who-knows-what. No one could really hear the instructions, so we tried playing and explaining the game as we went along. But Jill made it impossible as she began wailing like a fog horn being run over by a big rig. She kept up with her guttural howling "UHHHHHH!" as long as she possibly could.
Since the new game was being ruined by her siren-like yelling, we decided to play a more simple game: celebrity, a charades-like game where you have to guess which famous person you're pretending to be. Jill went off to have a cigarette, and we were able to get the game off to a great start. Game night was back on track.
Jill came back into the room and plopped herself into the new, expensive massage chair. She was much more subdued than before and clearly had no intention of playing the game. Jack sat next to her silently, clearly wasted. The game went on, and we were having a blast. Someone looked over at Jill, who had more or less passed out in the chair: she looked half-dead. They asked Jack, "Is she okay." Despite the fact that her eyes had nearly rolled back into her head, he replied, "She's fine."
Our team was poised for a comeback and about to make a big move, when suddenly I heard someone groan the dreaded words, "Uh-oh!" I turned to see Jill sitting upright with a long, thick strand of drool dangling from her mouth. She had just puked on the new, expensive massage chair.
But she didn't make a move to the bathroom. She just sat there, stunned. Then, she opened her mouth and began puking. A lot. Onto the new, expensive massage chair, the white carpet, and her dress. I grabbed an empty chip bowl, passed it to someone so she didn't have to continuously vomit everywhere, and ran to the kitchen, out of harms way. Luckily, I was joined by two others who had weak stomachs and wanted to avoid the stink of vomit.
Jill never made it to the bathroom. She just held strong in the living room and kept puking. In the kitchen, we were all trying to figure out how to get them home. We were ready to call for a cab and chip in, but one of the guys at the party, Matt, who is a good friend of theirs and was sober, offered to drive them back home. As I cowered in the kitchen, Matt went up to Jack and said, "I think we should get going." Jack, despite the fact that his girlfriend was puking all over herself and the furniture, replied, "Nah, I think we're fine." Matt then kindly rephrased himself, "I think everyone would be much more comfortable if we took her home." Jack finally got the clue and they decided to leave. A few minutes after they left, Matt called to say they were home and safe, but that he now had to clean out the backseat of his car, as Jill christened that with vomit as well.
Game night was over. But we all hung out for another hour, trying to figure out what had just happened. Of course, as we talked about her puking, it lead to everyone telling legendary gross stories. Jill's night of Jager and puking on the new, expensive massage chair will be added to my repertoire of nasty, disgusting stories, and told to groups of friends, on a night like last night.
We're planning for another game night soon, but this time, Jack and Jill won't be invited.