My hands are shaking right now. I’m not sure if it’s because of the hangover or the adderall/coffee/dip binge I’m on. Regardless, typing is not easy.
Our driver probably shouldn’t be behind the wheel right now. He was taking shots until 5am last night. Although I guess we all were, so looks like we’re rolling with this driving arrangement for the foreseeable future.
These were my first thoughts on the absolute worst day of the frat year—the spring break drive home. Not only is spring break over with, but now we have to leave PCB and all its morally devoid glory for a year. We also have to drive 16 hours to get home. Not to mention I’m missing about half the possessions I came down there with, including my favorite croakies. Oh and I have a sunburn so intense that pillows hurt my skin.
I ask the driver to pull over so I can puke on the side of the road. Somehow, some way, this is going to hurt my skin. Thankfully no one is going to see me in my shameful state because there’s literally nobody around. We can’t even pick up a radio station on this shitty, backwoods, panhandle road.
The only way to pass the time on the drive is to collectively try to figure out exactly what happened over the course of the week. Nobody knows if we went to Sharky’s or Hammerhead Fred’s on Monday. Nobody knows where Frank went for 5 hours in the middle of the day Tuesday. We discuss the STD we most likely got from the hotel pool (AIDS is the runaway winner). We also try to figure out how the drunkest member of the trip managed to get into the bar on Friday wearing only one shoe and attempting to pay cover with a switchblade he found on the beach that day.
In a few days we will resume classes, and the beautiful women will no longer be wearing bikinis all day. There will be no beach, colder weather, and Greek Week bullshit for the next three weeks.
Yeah, it’s always sad to leave PCB, but let’s look at some of the positives. At school it’s just going to be your roommate walking in on you and your slam during an afternoon quickie instead of the Mexican maid and seventeen people you vaguely remember inviting back to your room a half hour earlier. You’ll also finally have a bed to pass out in instead of the driest, least sandy part of the hotel room floor.
But at the end of the day the few negatives of spring break, the drive included, are greatly outweighed by the many positives of the trip. Spring break is the best week of the year. Hands down. One day of hungover hell on a highway is absolutely worth a week of giving zero fucks in a trashy beach city. It’s what we look forward to all semester, nay, all year. This travel day is trying to make us not want to go back. But we always do. Every year. Even with all the bad decisions, all the sorostitute drama, and this terrible drive, it’s worth it. One thousand times over. Besides, making a decision while hungover is sort of like making a decision while drunk. When you’re drunk you’re up for anything, when you’re hungover you never want to do anything again. Don’t listen to your hangover, you know you’re going back.
But all I can think about on this day is the drive. Compared with other bad hangover days of the frat year, such as the days after the first and last home game of the year, the day after the first snow, the start of finals week, and the 5th of July, this is the worst of the worst. Time to kill a Gatorade, two gas station hot dogs, and a jumbo bag of pepperoni pizza Combos.