Aisha Tyler has a new book out called, 'Self-Inflicted Wounds'. She also has a closing segment on her podcast by the same name and I'm going to assume she takes all of her guest's stories and compiled them into book form.
Well, my self-inflicted wound is the scar between my eyes.
I was drinking rye. And no good ever comes from drinking rye. No one ever has a magical adventure on rye. A story that starts with 'I was drinking rye' never ends good.
I was about 17 years old and a fairly new drinker. It was a Friday night. I was drinking with my buddies Buzz and Earl T. Straight from the bottle with 7-Up chaser. It was December. And because it was close to Christmas, the mall was open for Midnight Madness. For some reason we thought it would be a good idea to go to the mall and check out the entertainment - the Old Time Fiddlers. And they are exactly what they sound like, a bunch of old timers playing fiddles. Fiddle music is pretty good dancing music in case you've never heard it before.
Anyways, fast forward to Monday morning because my recollection of the night is from other people. I'm sitting in the library at school before classes start. I sit down with this guy and ask how it's going. And we're talking and I realize he has no idea about my Friday night.
But out of the corner of my eye, I can see this other guy telling a story to his friends, and I immediately knew it was about me. The guys listening to the story are laughing and looking at me. Then to finish off the story, the guy does a demonstration of a tree falling down and I know he's describing what I must've looked like as I fell flat on my face and knocked myself unconscious.
Now, again, I have no recollection of this night and I'm just going based on the stories I've heard from other people. But apparently, we went to the mall and because it's Midnight Madness, the mall is packed. Well, we found the Old Time Fiddlers. And for some reason, Earl T and I thought it would be funny to dance along to them and we hooked arms and we're hopping around in circles. I'm sure our dumbass friends were encouraging us too. At one point, I guess I got too dizzy or something and I had to excuse myself to go and vomit in a garbage can, sticking my head right in there.
Then towards the end of the night, I was just standing there. Swaying. And then...tip. Crash. With a thud. Right on my face. Knocked myself out. I think that's when I lost one of my contact lenses.
Did I mention my mother was there? She and a friend of hers managed to get me in a vehicle and drove me home. It was a struggle to get me in the house. And she just left me at the bottom of the stairs just inside the door. She couldn't drag me to my bedroom and left me there for my Dad to carry me when he got off of work at midnight. My brother was at the top of the stairs watching the whole thing. He says to my Mom, "Turn him on his side." God bless him. He knew about Bon Scott (the lead singer from AC/DC) and Jimi Hendrix choking on their own vomit after a night of drinking because he read about them in 'The Rolling Stone Encyclopedia of Rock & Roll'.
Well I woke up in bed. Stayed in bed most of the day. After dinner I went out to find my friend to find out what happened. He said Earl T and I drank most of the rye and got really drunk. Well, that's not news. But, I did learn a new phrase that night. 'Projectile vomit'.
Anyways, I had this huge scab between my eyes and for some reason rather than letting it heal, I ripped it off. Hence the scar.
