It started off so civilly, but that’s how most of our nights do. Maybe that’s the telltale sign we should have looked for. Everyone was sober, happy and grateful to be free of the working week.
A quick drink at the pub found Miss H, Nighty, the boyfriend and I talking over the week that was and making plans for the two days ahead. A phone call from our Perth mate Trainerboy informed us he was in town and searching for us. A few minutes later he arrived, sweaty and hot. Sweaty from the run to the pub, hot from the fact he’s ridiculously good looking and sporting legs too good to be true.
We downed a few before I suggested we fulfil a dream I’ve had since arriving in Albany 4 years before… to go ten pin bowling.
We hurried back to mine filled with anticipation of an evening where none of us would be smashed, no one would be injured and we’d all go and leave as one group. Oh how wrong I was. My first mistake was to invite the Couple. History has proven them to be trouble with a capital CM. These two like nothing better than to let loose, break furniture, swing each other wildly around the room and be sent home in disgrace… but how could they possibly carry out these actions at a bowling alley? How indeed?
We stopped at the bottle shop on the way. Sure we bought a shit load of wine and spirits, but it was on sale and whatever we didn’t drink could be saved for another day. Yes I was kidding myself but I was possibly a bit too drunk to care… and we hadn’t arrived at the alley yet.
The bowling alley was a picture of small town chic. darkened lanes, neon lit backdrops and a soundtrack ripped straight from my days of rollerdisco. I blame the alley for playing the grease megamix followed by divinyls. What else could we do but turn into 1987 bogans. On a side note I was wearing stretch black skinny jeans so I was in bowling night heaven.
As we arrived we realised we had no glasses so the alley attendant supplied us with plastic cups. Not just any cups mind you but those milkshake sized mugs reserved for spiders and whatever is being consumed by alcoholics. Do you see where this story is going?
We had the best night. Seriously one of the best nights I’ve had. We were loud and obnoxious, singing, dancing, occasionally bowling and constantly checking out the gaggle of eighteen year old hotties in the lane next door. Initially our rowdiness was diffused by the other patrons but as the night wore on the crowd dwindled and soon it was just us and a very bored looking attendant.
By this time things were looking a bit… how you say… messy.
No one was scoring, Trainer Boy and Bonnie were throwing themselves down the laneway, Miss H was table top dancing on the Scoreboard and multiple balls were being sent down single lanes. This was when the lights came on and the music stopped. Apparently it was time for us to leave.
We removed our hire shoes and made our way to the front. On the way Trainer boy stopped to shoplift two cans of soft drink and a packet of chips. I hurried past him and pushed open the front door and walked outside…
…just in time to see the couple swinging each other around, and to see her pirouette beautifully towards the balcony railings… except there was a gap in the rails and Miss C slid straight through that gap and plunged over the edge head first. We raced down the two metre stairwell to see her still on the bitumen driveway. The show it seems was over. Actually that’s not true. The show had just begun.
After a few minutes we got C to her feet. We ummed and arred about an ambulance but she insisted we go home. We hailed a taxi and got home as fast as the driver could. During the journey we managed to spill a bottle of wine over the cab floor. I dashed inside to grab a roll of paper towels and dabbed away at the maxi taxi floor. Meanwhile C was moved to the couch and everyone stood over her in concern.
C needed to go to the hospital but she was being stubborn and now was calling for the only member of our social circle not actually with us. She refused to travel until Nighty was called so we jumped in the car and raced off to collect her. Miss H was driving, and a little intoxicated, but the emergency had sent our adreniline racing and no one had thought to question who was in a fit state to drive. No one except the police car that cruised behind us and flashed its lights, ending our journey two kilometres short of our destination.
The police were extremely polite, even as they led Miss H to the back of their car. She had blown 0.07 and was now being escorted to the police station. I explained our predicament to the officers and asked if they could breathalyze me to see if I was fit to take the wheel. Unfortunately they couldn’t oblige as a positive reading would mean I would have to be taken to the station as well. They told me the only option would be for me to drive and then be pulled over. Ok, that makes no sense to me either but I found myself behind the wheel and heading towards Nights place. At this point I should stress that I was under the limit and have no idea why I wasn’t driving in the first place. Night was waiting on the driveway for me tapping her foot impatiently.
She jumped in the car and we sped(keeping well within the speed limit ofcourse) back to the house to pick up C.
to be continued…
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