Who am I to tell a grown man that he can’t drive his own damn car?
Yeah, he’s had a couple of Old Fashioneds, but he looks about as fine as he did walking into the bar. I’m not going to be the guy that tries to play “hide the keys,” or pleads with him not to get in that driver’s seat.
I don’t even drink, and I’m supposed to tell this dude that he’s had enough? I don’t even know what “enough” really is, so it’s hard to look a friend in the eyes and decipher whether he’s buzzed or not, since I don’t have a legitimate frame of reference.
That was pretty much part of my thought process, trying so hard not to be “that guy,” after nights out with friends.
Talking about these situations among my coworkers, they too shared tough instances when they felt the guilt of watching someone drive off after a night of drinking, so I figured it might be more common than I thought.
A quick Google search led me to a generic WikiHow story on keeping your friends from driving drunk. Sure you can try their 12 steps — at least it’s something to keep in mind — but to me, the real value of the article was some more affirmation that I’m not the only one who has been put in this tough position.
Whatever the case, it seems like the fear of being judged by your peers, or being looked at as uptight, is real. It shouldn’t be that way, though, for the sake of the people we care about.
And, yes, you read that correctly earlier, I don’t drink — never have, and unless Scarlett Johansson tries to seduce me over a couple of cocktails, I probably never will. I’m eternally stubborn, and have watched enough people drink to know it’s not something that really intrigues me.
The sober life led to some insecurities, especially when it felt like I was the only one in college not pounding Jagerbombs, or taking shots of Henny like I was in a Tupac music video. It was a lot harder when I was younger, seeking acceptance from those around me, and at the same time, trying to keep up with my own personal code.
Even without an alcoholic drink in my hand, I’ve become likable enough to be invited to parties, bars, and clubs, but before I built that rapport with people, there were a lot of thoughts in my head that went something like, ‘Don’t come across as the judge-y sober guy.’
With that mantra in my head, I watched a lot of friends drive off after a night of drinking. Hell, I even got in the same car with them a few times. Nervously closing my eyes in prayer, I’d strap on my seat belt, convince myself that my friend could handle the steering wheel, and hit the road as we either traveled back to someone’s house, or yet another nearby bar.
Yes, I can totally see you mouthing to yourself, “This guy’s stupid.”
I’m thinking back at these times and saying the exact same thing as I write this. You’d think the sober guy would have more sense than that, but at least in these instances, my sober decisions were just as stupid as a drunk’s.
Stats say that two in three people — TWO OUT OF THREE FUCKING PEOPLE — will be involved in a drunk driving crash in their lifetime, so I feel lucky as hell that my decision to let friends drive me around while drunk hasn’t backfired on me.
I’ll always remember my sophomore year of high school as the year I learned to play guitar. My buddy Jonah was a classic headbanger, would bring his guitar to school, and played Metallica’s Nothing Else Matters about as perfectly as the album version. He helped me fall in love with the strings, the smell of the wood, and the millions of musical possibilities in one instrument. Jonah was gracious enough to teach me his ways, and a damn good teacher he was.
Later that year, I had to start learning things about guitar on my own because my dear friend Jonah had a bit too much to drink, took his car for a spin, hit a tree, and never again made it back to class to bless us all with his musical gift.
Too many of these stories exist, and I can’t help but think that every time, that person who is now gone, meant the world to someone, somewhere.
I don’t know, but maybe I'd be a little more stern, get a group to help, call an Uber, find a designated driver, or just ask them to crash on a couch. With just any honest attempt, those unforgettable nights where your friend got hammered and rejected by a record 16 girls, or times when someone pisses their pants, can end without them getting behind the wheel. It’s on everyone to get rid of that bullshit fear of being proactive, or thinking it’s not our responsibility.
Look at me, sounding like the judge-y guy I always feared I’d be, but fuck it. I care more about starting a conversation than fearing someone might think I'm some antisocial douchebag who doesn't "get it."
Aside from those anti-drunk driving groups, it feels like no one likes talking about this until it hits home, in a really bad way.
We have to be a little more willing to stop our homies from driving drunk, you know, since people’s lives are literally on the line.
You’ve probably felt this same guilt. It doesn’t make you a 'little bitch,' it doesn’t make you a square who doesn’t like to have fun. What it does make you is human; one who obviously cares about the people around them.
Just a thought from a sober guy who has made stupid sober decisions, and hopes you’ll make better ones than I did, whether you’re sober or not.
