The Luv Doc: She’s Not My Friend

Dear Luv Doc,

Me and a friend went to see another friend’s band Friday night, and I lost the coin flip and was the designated driver. For most of the night I was up by the stage drinking my near beer and rocking out, so I lost track of him for most of the night. After the last set I found him drinking at the bar with a woman. They seemed to be getting along well, probably because they were both drunk from sitting at the bar all night, and I sat and chatted with them until closing time, at which point, my friend asked me if we could give his friend a ride home “because it was on the way.” Once she was in the car, I found out it was not on the way home, it was several miles away in the suburbs. Then, on the way to take her home, my friend asked if we could stop by his house so he could pee. I thought, “What’s the difference?” so I pulled into his driveway and he got out and went into his house, leaving me in the car with this strange woman. He was taking a really long time to pee and after about 10 minutes idling in his driveway I decided to go in and check on him. I asked the woman if she wanted to come with me and she said, “No, I’ll wait.” Even though it felt weird leaving a stranger alone in my car, I took my keys and went in. I found him asleep on his couch. I shook him awake and said he needed to drive with me to take his friend home and he said “She’s not my friend, I thought you said she was your friend. Anyway, I am not leaving this couch, bro.” We then had a five-minute argument about whose friend the drunk woman in the backseat of my car was. Long story short, I ended up chauffeuring this random woman (she refused to get in the front seat) nearly an hour round-trip to take her home at 2:30 in the morning and she threw up in my car. When I called my friend the next day to ask for damages, he kept insisting that I said she was my friend, so he doesn’t owe me anything. I think he really believes I said she was my friend, which makes it even more crazy. What do I do with this situation? It’s not like I have a ton of friends. – Designated Dumbass

Wow! Sometimes this column just writes itself! I think the real life lesson to be learned here is to never be the designated driver. Tell me you wouldn’t have dropped a hundo on an Uber had you known this was how the night would unfold! It could have been you throwing up in a stranger’s backseat – although I wouldn’t recommend that, because the list of Uber drivers who will pick up someone with a .00001 passenger rating consists entirely of serial killers. Fascinating stories I’m sure, but the whole idea of ridesharing is to arrive at a destination of your choosing, not the driver’s. So yeah, regardless of the commendable altruism you displayed, tactically, agreeing to be DD was a pretty big fuckup.

Implicit in the notion of a designated driver is the naive belief that drunk people will act in a sane or predictable manner or that they can be controlled in any way. In fact, that notion is so unbelievably naive that I can only imagine it was concocted by some teetotaling Lutheran youth minister who never experienced the sensation of cinnamon whiskey vomit shooting out his nostrils. Anyone who has will happily traverse the entirety of the Austin metroplex barefoot before they let someone with Fireball breath get into their backseat. “Naw dawg, you’re gonna need to call a Lyft.”

Astoundingly obvious observations aside, I’m sure you meant well, and good on you. You did the right thing, you just made the mistake of letting the inmates run the asylum. So then, what do you do when a friend gets really drunk and fucks you over – even if unintentionally? You do what any good friend does and haze them mercilessly about it until one of you is dead – ideally of natural causes and not because of a .0001 Uber rating. Keep in mind, without you – his true friend – he might forget this memorable evening and perhaps even repeat it someday. Plus you’re going to need a way to vent your bile and vitriol – ideally in a way that underscores your close relationship. There’s no better way to do that than regularly bringing up embarrassing anecdotes from the past. Enjoy this gift.