Oh God, the power’s out.
Check the fuses.
No, nope, no, Derek, that’s the thermostat.
Okay, poop in my breakfast cereal, it’s out everywhere. No TV or Internet means I’m stuck either taking all the Tylenol PMs and going to bed now or having to actually converse with the family while we keep drinking. A pint deep, it’s best, at least medically speaking, to keep drinking sans sleeping pills. As a group, we’re short on party drugs and sexual tension, so it looks like it’s Board Game Night. Yeah, if I’m blacking out for this blackout there’s no chance I’m getting there while listening to people aimlessly yammer about their futures and give unsolicited advice.
Everything’s so much creepier when there’s no power; the house is dark, I notice spooky shadows cast from the moonlight, and Derek keeps offering to give backrubs. Honestly I can’t start Game Night quick enough. Scouring, I find some half-burnt candles that smell of bath and divorced mom before ripping Trouble (1) out of the closet.
We’ve started easy. People can follow it, the die stays in the Pop-O-Matic, and drinking any time someone’s piece is sent back to Start has successfully distracted Derek from venting. The game’s quick and truces are broken even faster. Hilarity follows when, out of frustration and betrayal, the board is flipped yet the majority of the pegs remain rooted within their spots.
Our buzzes sufficiently and swiftly enhanced, we move on to Scattergories (2). The top score in each round drinks as well as the lowest, effectively punishing the dumb and hampering the clever. Smugness and self-confidence flourish. I don’t care how prestigious your lawyering internship is, Derek; at least I’m not the dumbass who couldn’t think of more than three answers for the round with an easy letter like R.
In an intoxicated and idiotic stupor, Derek insists we play something easier and immediately returns with Mouse Trap (3). We start drinking at a relatively taxing pace now, namely every time a piece of the mousetrap is set in place. The rate would be even faster, but, despite the instructions and our college educations, we’re awful at setting up this game intended for children.
The next fifteen minutes go exactly as expected. Alcohol and frustration coalesce into broken contraption pieces, forever ensuring that this board will never again experience its zany action and Rube Goldberg-ian glory. The game’s thrown in the trash and I get to work fabricating a lie to relay to the children of the house over the mysterious disappearance of Mouse Trap.
Deducing that we hadn’t sustained enough aggravation, someone returns from the closet with Monopoly (4). We decide on a caveat: at the owed party’s discretion, drinks can be substituted for payment. So, Derek, you landed on my New York Avenue that has four houses and you only have $550 of my owed $800? Eh, instead of the $800, just give me the $550 and take a double shot of vodka without chasing, cool?
It quickly becomes a sloppy, belligerent affair; people stay in and get drunker in lieu of going bankrupt and going to bed. It’s a wonderful, prolonged experience that doesn’t end until my bankroll and stomach can take no more. To think, just a few hours ago I was worried about not being able to get drunk enough.