Ever since I started my co-op last month, the value of my weekends has absolutely skyrocketed.

Having to work a 9 to 5 day every day really makes you appreciate your free time, and it’s safe to say that I’ve been appreciating the shit out of my free time lately. I’d imagine, for most people, appreciating free time means relaxing at home, getting some extra sleep or hanging out with friends — you know, normal people stuff. But because I live with 12 alcoholic psychopaths, approximately all of my free time is spent binge-drinking booze at dangerous levels. I have no choice in the matter. If I try to back out, I end up getting peer pressured into drinking even more than I normally would, so I’ve basically learned to embrace it at this point.

So, as anticipated, I drank at dangerous levels this weekend. Yesterday evening I had the pleasure of being invited to a military-themed date social, hosted by my girlfriend’s sorority. A couple of my roommates were invited as well, so we put on our finest camouflage attire and proceeded to inhale alcohol. It was all smooth sailing at the pregame and even after we had gotten to the bar where the social was being hosted – I was feeling pretty decent. Certainly a little intoxicated from the fifth of Svedka and multiple tequila shots I’d taken, but overall I was doing A-OK.

What I should’ve known though, was that a tsunami of drunkenness was about to hit me. I like to imagine it kinda like this:

I was completely oblivious as to what was in store for me, and I drank even more whilst at the bar. I paid $14 for a single gin and tonic, and that is how I definitely know that I was borderline retarded last night. You’d have to be a fucking moron to pay that much for 12 ounces of liquid, and quite frankly it should be illegal for bars to take advantage of drunk people like that, but that’s neither here nor there. I proceeded to drink a handful of overpriced G&T’s, and that’s when the real drunkenness kicked in.

Now, there are lots of people out there with drunk alter-egos. Some people get angry when they’re drunk, some people get horny when they’re drunk, but me? I get philosophical. I actually feel bad for the people that get stuck talking with me when I’m hammered, because I’m sure no one wants to be having intellectual conversations in a dimly lit room while A$AP Ferg is blasting in the background. Despite this, I decided to have my nightly philosophical conversation with the bar’s bathroom attendant.

It all started off plainly enough: I finished my drink, sensed the urge to pee, walked into the bathroom and took a long, relieving piss. I then washed my hands (flu season, duh) and turned around to see a nice man standing there offering me a paper towel. I took the towel, dried off my hands, thanked him, and promptly said: “do you believe in God?”

We then had a 15-minute conversation about religion, the Catholic church, science, and even his family background. We spoke for so long that I actually had to stop for another piss break in the middle of the conversation, giving him the chance to offer me another towel. He told me he loves his job of being a bathroom attendant (to my surprise) and I gave him a nice $5 tip for tolerating my drunken conversation.

I believe I’ve made a friend for life in that bar bathroom. Do I remember his name? No. Do I remember the name of the bar? Not a chance. But I’ll always remember the quality conversation that I had with that bathroom attendant.

Charlie Malone