Here I am, alone (mostly), drunk and bored on a Friday night. I’m thinking about things to do as sitting in my room feeling sorry for myself doesn’t feel like the best idea in the world. I’m in my chair sipping chugging Natural Ice while playing video games when I get the idea to ride the drunk bus alone and observe the various drunk fucks caught up in the night that need a safe ride home. I check the bus schedule and plan my remaining beers accordingly. I must be drunk enough to tolerate but sober enough to observe accurately. I promptly broke the sober rule and got too drunk while hiding behind the guise of gonzo journalism- a practice that involves getting completely immersed in the world you are covering. My spirits were high as I checked the bus schedule. At approximately 1:26 AM, we ride.

I venture to the bus stop outside of my silent and dark apartment complex. I walk to where the bus usually stops. It’s 1:24, two minutes until the bus comes. Two drunk girls are wandering down the road coming towards me looking for the bus. As they get closer one of them asks if I’m a serial killer to which I sarcastically reply “yes”. One gets the joke, the other doesn’t. I see a bus coming from down the road but it’s going in the wrong direction. I inform the two girls that a bus is coming and when it gets here only one of the girls gets on. Unfortunately for me and her, it’s the girl that didn’t get my serial killer joke that finds herself waiting for the next bus with a potential murderer. I try to convince her otherwise but all of my attempts of friendliness are met with fear and standoffish replies.

I board the bus about 5 minutes late and it’s completely empty except for me, the girl, and two other guys who end up getting off at the next stop.The empty bus drives for about 15 minutes until it reaches a bar called Hilligan’s. Hilligan’s is where the frat kids and sorority girls reside on Thursday and Friday nights. They go there with one misson, to hook up, the only way to tolerate such a terrible place. This is when the drunks finally stumble on and I can get the story I want. The bus promptly fills with the smell of alcohol, sweat and cigarettes; the signs of a perfect night out.

The boisterous and loud riders board and it only takes a minute to categorize the different types of riders who separate quickly. The most noticeable are the couples; they come in hand in hand as if they’ve been dating for years until this point even though they probably just met at the dive they just got on the bus at. The drunk guy trying to convince the girl that he actually cares about her beyond this night while only looking for the cheap hookup. One guy, boldly talks to any girl he can, still looking for the last ditch hookup chance or “The Kamikaze” as I like to call it. Some people were simply on the bus were too drunk to drive and looking for a ride home. I like to call those people the puritan drinkers. The puritans are only out to get drunk and that’s it. The next category is the ones who were defeated by the night. The drunks with the sad looks on their faces with no words to go along with them are type people try to avoid. One girl was in the front crying while her friends consoled her.

The drunks struggle to remember the names of the girls on their arms as the bus pulls up to my stop. “So are we hanging out at my place?!” one of the guys yells in a drunken attempt to keep the night going. It works and they go to his apartment.