When you stick a bunch of free alcohol, Spliff’s coworkers, and a Bounce House with a water slide together…you could have some interesting stories for the grandchildren.
You know, I am one for stories. There’s the one about the burglary where not much was stolen other than dairy products, there was the fire in which my cat found some way to burrow, covered in soot, under the kitchen sink and hide there until I get home, there was the infamous car accident where I was hit by a dead guy…I could go on, but I think you can see where this is going.
Either way, last night was another one of Spliff’s office parties. The liquor was free, half of the people were underage, and there was a Bounce House. Basically, the night started out like any other office party. There were a bunch of kids in bathing suits sliding off the water slide on one side of the big inflatable room and then running back up the other side and doing it all over again. There were people lined up, taking shots of Patron in the kitchen where the bar had been set up. There was catered food and good beer.
By the time Spliff decided that dancing was a good idea, we had already had our picture taken 78 times and had taken too many shots of tequila for Spliff to avoid the holes in the lawn and continue to walk like the graceful girl she had been earlier. A girl named Ashley came tearing out of the kitchen, wrapping her arms around me and screeching about the three shots someone had just convinced her to do. She then, used my body to do the Macarena. Normally, I wouldn’t have let this occur, but seeing as she couldn’t stand up alone and that it seemed that she was bound and determined to do the Macarena, I would have to take one for the team.
After a couple more trips to the bar, I saw my favorite Spliff’s Office Party Person, Sean. Sean and I go way back to the Christmas party where I spun him like a big, gay top all over the dance floor and right into the band, almost injuring everyone in his path. Sean is a huge, gay tornado and I fucking love him. He showed up so late that he immediately started downing tequila shots and holding my hand and running around like we were school girls. This is where things get hazy.
I remember someone saying, “Yeah, lets go on the water slide!” This was CLEARLY the idea of a genius, considering that we were all wearing skirts or dresses and everything. So naturally, we climbed into the Bounce House and jumped around. We toppled over and the water sprayed us to the point that we looked like a bunch of really drunk, really wet idiots. At some point, I fell over. Laughing hysterically, I let the current of the inflatable room take me over. I slipped further and further towards the edge and suddenly felt that it was starting to deflate. Now, I don’t claim to be a hero or anything, but usually, I am no wuss either…but let me just say that when you have been drinking tequila with your favorite gay and you decide to get soaking wet and jump around with a bunch of your fellow drunks and you start to see them disappear from your line of sight, one by one, replaced by a huge plastic blanket, you might start to panic.
I could tell right away that I would not be able to hoist myself up from beneath the heaviness of the deflating Bounce House. I could still hear people whooping and giggling about the fun they were having. But I could no longer see Spliff and I could no longer see JM and I could no longer see Sean.
I think it was JM who finally grabbed my hand and pulled me out. I only remember having the worst panic attack of my life and spazzing out for nearly an hour while JM frantically searched for my flip flops. I have a hand-shaped bruise on my forearm and my eyes are swollen from crying. This must be what claustrophobia feels like. Even after the burglary, the fire, and the car accident, I always felt pretty sane and normal. Leave it to the inflatable kids’ playhouse to almost kill me. Because, seriously, that would be the way it would have to happen for me.
I realize that telling the story of drunken claustrophobia might not gain me any respect or anything but it should be viewed like a public service announcement. Don’t get drunk and think you are going to play. You are not going to play. You will almost suffocate when the idiot who is in charge of the toys decides to start dismantling them while you are inside. You will have a panic attack. You will look like a moron. I promise. Take it from me, Lindsey Wagner, I mean…me. (I promise not to try and sell you a sleep number bed at any time.)
All jokes aside, it was a really fucked up way to end a night. I did have a good time though, near death experience or not. But you will never see me jumping around in one of those bitches again. That’s for damn sure. I would rather be stuck in an elevator. Hell, I would rather be stuck in an elevator with Fergie. (I cringed too…I know it sounds like a fate worse than death).