The 10 People You Meet While Walking Home From the Bar

Image via Complex Original

Like bathroom mirror selfies and wristband specials, unhinged emotions play a profound role in the nightclub experience. There's always that girl that's on her all-the-single-ladies tip, until a few key bombs of yayo and a half dozen tequila shots bring the night to an early, tearful end. On your walk back to your apartment, you'll see this chick sitting on a street curb, inconsolably crying into her phone with her high school boyfriend, and housing an extra large slice of sausage pizza. This girl swung on a doorman, like, and hour ago, so tread lightly. One wrong move and she's going to smash her iPhone against your nose like Naomi Campbell after a 20 ounce Red Bull.

Nothing pushes a man to relapse faster than repeated Justin Bieber dubstep remixes, so—depending on your neighborhood, but generally speaking—your walk home from the club is going to be peppered with hand-to-hand drug deals. It's never a good idea to buy narcotics from strangers, especially after 2 a.m., but they bank on your drunken apathy. Today's $100 bag of baking soda will just be one of tomorrow morning's many regrets.

It's why you go out, isn't it? No one really likes deafening club mixes of Will.i.am joints, but you tolerate them in hopes of finding that missing piece to your MDMA affected, irregularly beating heart. It starts with a conversation at the bar, makes its way to the dance floor, and eventually it boils over with a drunken makeout session in the back of a cab. And by "it," we mean hepatitis.

Bars and nightclubs are funny because they just throw goons out on the street. Like, if two guys scrap in a bank on a Tuesday afternoon, they'll each do 18 months at Rikers Island. But if you get loaded and smash a dude’s skull on the dance floor, they'll just throw you and him out on the curb so y'all can videotape the finale and throw it on WorldStar. Naturally, the streets are overrun with would-be defendants when the bar lets out. Keep an eye out for dudes who walk in the middle of the sidewalk with their elbows and shoulders out, those guys are looking for an excuse. Brawl responsibly.

If you want to bring feuding dictators together or reunite Guns N' Roses, all it takes is drunken conversation about fantasy football at 3 a.m. Drunks can either be unhinged social pariahs or your new best buddy; there's no in-between. Like, no one gets loaded and just acts like an indifferent Drew Carey brushing off super fans on The Price is Right. They either crack a pool cue over your cranium or Facebook request your ass on the spot. We just hope you run into the latter.

Once the seal is broken, there is no turning back. These types can be found opening the floodgates of their nether region in bushes and alley ways within a mile radius of drinking holes around the country. Four trips to the restroom at the last bar wasn’t enough for this character, who can be heard declaring his bladder's uncomfort frequently during the journey home. Each passing tree and darkened corner becomes more and more desirable to the burdened one. As their kidney's capacity reaches its limits, the allure of dropping trou in public becomes irresistably attractive. It's only a matter of time.

"I probably should've eaten" are never welcomed words to hear prior to indulging in the night's all liquid diet. As the evening progresses and a slightly slurred speech turns into a boisterous exclamation, you can only dread the obnoxious events that lay ahead of you on your walk home. Every sidewalk crack is a tripping obstacle and passing cars become slaves to this drunkard's decision to jay walk and astray from the course as he sees fit. God bless the poor soul who is walking home alone at 2 a.m., as he is bound to hear, "Hey, Lone Ranger!" from the most vocal member of your clan. While the bartender may be guilty of over-serving, the buffoon alone is guilty of shouting "turn up!" ten too many times and initiating spontaneous high fives with strangers. 

This mischievous character can't help but display their irrational urge to collect souvenirs during the quest back home. After previously smuggling out an ash tray from the bar patio, they conclude the night by moving on to bigger and better things. You've seen it before: street sign adorned dorm room walls and orange construction cones stuffed into overgrown shrubbery. The next morning they have no recollection of how these items found their way home; meanwhile an out of towner searches feverishly for his left turn onto Miller Avenue. 

If you didn't hear enough top 40 club remixes blasting through the speakers throughout the night, this guy has you covered. Armed with an iPhone music library and an air guitar, the streets transform into a personal dance floor and no crosswalk is safe. "Pumped Up Kicks" and other songs that refuse to fade away provide the lo-fi soundtrack to your group's movement and give you an extra reason to walk at least five steps ahead of your entourage. But if all goes according to plan, he'll find just the right time to cue Katy Perry's latest and win the attention of the blonde having boyfriend issues. 

Not to be mistaken with "the buffoon," the puke-n-walker can manage to put one foot in front of the other with relative ease, but has a growing displeasure for the recent Irish car bomb consumed after last call was announced. At this point decorating the sidewalk with the evening's Jimmy Johns and Jaegermeister combination seems inevitable. Sometimes all you need is a good vomit in order to keep things moving along. The truest users of this art form aim their mouth eruption into nearby plant life without without ever disrupting their stride. After a sense of accomplishment and a wipe of the chin, this guy's second wind is just kicking in.