At 2 a.m. every weekend, the piercing ring of my phone interrupts my beauty rest. I groggily roll over and stare at my caller ID, wishing I’d turned the bugger off for the night.
I get more than my fair share of drunk dials. Though I usually don’t answer, I receive enough of them that I have started a scoring system. Ranking goes from an obnoxious one to a cute-but-trashed 10, and if a caller doesn’t score high enough, I’m not answering.
The time the ring occurs is of major importance to the drunk dial rating. If they call too early in the day, I assume they are budding alcoholics or extreme lightweights. I don’t care if they started pre-gaming at 8 a.m. or if they just added to the hangover they woke up with — if I get the drunk dial before noon, the score will be low.
On the other hand, if they call too late, I take points off. A late call means the shenanigans started after all interesting plans failed. I’m automatically going to believe the ingestion of alcohol is happening in some random basement littered with old, ugly sofas, a foul stench and four other people who had no plans.
Days of the week matter just as much as the hour. According to college students, drinking becomes acceptable starting on Thursday. By Sunday evening, if you’re still nursing a beverage and there isn’t a sporting event involved, it might be necessary to talk with someone.
Content of the drunk dial is also important. I don’t appreciate the slurred, bluntly honest confessions. I don’t need to know that you hate my new haircut or made out with one of my friends. Those who share too much information score low enough that they are on my, “Do not answer, ever!” list.
However, if the urge hits to tell me I’m awesome, that you love me — like really, really love me, or that going to different schools was the worst idea we’ve ever had — call away.
Keep calling until I answer. Better yet, leave as many voicemails as Alltel will allow.
Slightly better than the “I love you, man” phone calls are those that feature other intoxicated people. The larger the posse shouting into the phone, the more impressive the drunk dial will be.
Is there a better way to rub it in that I should have gone out with you than to have 10 people scream at me?
I have one friend who has mastered the art of drunk dialing. For privacy’s sake, I’m going to call him “Bert.” He has a degree and work experience in “drunk and disorderly.”
Without fail, his phone calls master the qualifications of a fantastic drunk dial. They are timely, feature interesting facts and he is rarely alone.
From the time he called me at 3 a.m. because he was almost arrested for public urination to the occasion when he ran into a troop of drag queens parading downtown Minneapolis, Bert makes sure that I am well-informed of his alcohol-induced activities.
While I might not want to take all of the lessons from Bert’s drinking experiences, I do take one: if you’re going to drink, drink and dial, not drive.
Reach columnist Erica Knigge at Erica.Knigge@usd.edu.
HUMOR: Drunk dials worth the laughs
Published: Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Updated: Wednesday, January 28, 2009 00:01
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