The Time I Got Hit by a (Slow Moving) Bus
This is not a scary or sad story
Alcohol is probably the worst thing to hit mankind. What is it about passing out, slurring with your speech, possibly throwing up at the end of a night, and making cringe-worthy decisions that draws us to binge drinking? I suppose that’s unfair- it’s not the outcome we think of when we opt for binge-drinking- it’s the process of getting to the outcome that draws us to it, the ‘high’ that gives us the energy to dance like no one is watching (when in reality, it’s very likely that someone is watching and probably judging, but who cares), or the lowering of inhibitions that helps one walk up to a stranger and say, ‘Hey. You look like a young David Mitchell’, or the fact that almost every good story starts off with ‘I was a bit drunk’.
For as long as I can remember, Halloween has always been my favourite holiday- not because I enjoy remembering the departed, but because dressing up and playing make believe is acceptable only on that one day all year. When I was in university, Chipotle would give you burritos for £1 if you wore a Halloween costume. Naturally, the allure of £1 burritos was hard to ignore and so on Halloween in 2013, I dressed up all fancy in a LBD and then to get into the Halloween spirit, I did the bare minimum- I used an eyeliner to draw a nose and cat whiskers on my face. I felt much like a Mean Girl, minus the skimpy clothing.
Anyway, dressed up like a sexy cat, the drinks were free of charge for the night (because the less you look like a no nonsense woman, the more the chances of getting free alcohol), and the food was £1, which meant the drunkenness was at an all time high.
At the end of the night in Piccadilly Circus, we decided enough fun times had been had and that it was now bed time. I watched as my friends ran and jumped over the barriers between the main road and the footpath. To my drunk mind that seemed like an impossible task but to my drunk ears it was encouragement to go forth and do the same.
“Come on, the taxi is here!” I could hear. “Just jump!”
So I ran towards the barriers and jumped right over. I was so impressed. That was not an easy task I had achieved. I had a broad smile on my face and I could see the traffic lights had just turned red and so I proceeded to do a strut across the street, not realizing that the cars hadn’t all come to a halt and that no less than a bus was still braking.
Next thing I knew, it had hit me with a loud bump and I had fallen on the road. Roars of laughter could be heard from a distance, presumably of my “friends”. The bus driver had come out of the bus to yell at me. I couldn’t blame him. If it was me, I wouldn’t have had the patience to deal with me either. I stood back up, yelled out “sorry!” and walked the remaining distance with as much grace as I could gather in the moment.
The next morning I woke up in my pyjamas- again, not an ordinary feat. I got out of bed slowly, craving a large bottle of water and as I stepped on my foot, I felt a sensation of pain. A reminder that stupid things had happened the previous night. Memories from the previous night came racing back- the drinks, the burrito, and the bus.
It was about three hours later that I was finally seated in my living room with crutches by my side. A visit to the Accidents and Emergencies department at King’s College Hospital had not been amiss. The doctor was not impressed.
