Slippery When Wet

“The thing about Chuck Taylor Converse Shoes is they provide very little support, warmth and traction in the winter months.”

When my best friend Phil turned 24 on December 17, 2009 I knew the event would be a memory that would last forever. My buddies Fisk, Miah, Phil and I started our night around six in the evening at Phil’s house were we shared a case of Bud Light and watched “The Hangover.” We were at the beginning stages of inebriated smiles as the movie ended and we all left the house.

Now you see, I can neither confirm nor deny whether or not my buddies and I went to the gas station to buy 40 ounce bottles of beer for each of us as Phil’s girlfriend drove us to Buffalo Wild Wings. I can however say with assurance that Phil’s girlfriend was a very sober and annoyed designated driver. Once at Buffalo Wild Wings our main concern was taking in more alcohol rather than fill our bellies with food.

After all that, our night was about to begin. We headed to Naperville to some of our favorite bars all the while drinking excessively. I hadn’t seen Phil for a few months prior to this night of mischief so we were like giddy schoolgirls at recess. We ran around town and as we skipped through the cold night I began to notice that my Converse’s did not compare to winter galoshes. It was as if every piece of ice clinging to the ground was felt through my shoes as if I was a barefoot in ancient Rome.

It was around two in the morning when the gang decided to leave Naperville, mostly because the bars were closing. As we drove home Phil and I decided that the night was too short and needed to continue. We convinced Phil’s girlfriend Julie to take us to Harrah’s Casino and drop us off and we’d find a way back home. Phil and I happily drank beer, margaritas and took shots as we wasted our money on table games and slot machines. It wasn’t until five in the morning that we decided it was time to go. We exhausted every number in our phones trying to find someone to take us home. Unsuccessfully, we decided our best option in this intoxicated state was to walk to my apartment three miles from the casino.

It was cold and seemed like a good idea until we began our trudge over the bridge that connects downtown Joliet. On this slick hike over the inclined metal hill I fell twice and almost busted my head on one of the rails looking over the river below. The night wasn’t over until I fell roughly ten more times during our trip and my toes were left feeling as though I could break them off like snapping a carrot in half.

Since our adventure that night in December, I have managed to warm up and the bruises I received from falling so many times have vanished. However, I will always share that memory with Phil, of the time we stupidly walk through Joliet, IL drunk, cold and smiling to bring in a friends birthday.