There's that coming of age moment after a big night out where you wake up and it feels like you got Men-In-Black'd somewhere between ordering a round of double vodka-sodas and hearing someone say, "maybe we should get a cab." Everyone's stumbling around the apartment looking like the Crypt Keeper trying to figure out whether not the the glass of clear liquid on the coffee table is water or gin. You find yourself taking those minor measures to reduce your trainwreck-like apperance — brush your hair, swish with your buddy's mouthwash, button your pants, and toss in some eye drops. But then, just before heading to brunch, a wave of mental destruction punches you in the face as you realize the inevitable.
You fuckin' lost something.
And this isn't like losing something when you were a kid. It's not an Emmett Smith rookie card or one of your POG slammers. This is real life shit. This is "I need to confront this as soon as possible" material that induces the always dreaded early onset Sunday Scaries. And while no one likes to lose a friend in battle, some of these casualties are worse than others.
Scaries Level: "Fuck it."
I was at a folk music festival in 2009. It was peak Lax Bro season, so I was wearing my trademark Patagonia Baggies complete with a Virginia Lacrosse Pinny and a pair of navy blue ribbon Vineyard Vines sandals. While this is clearly neither here nor there, I was visibly standing out like a sore thumb, making enemies without even opening my mouth.
To get from the stages to the field where everyone camps and parties, you have to walk through a forest of tangled trails full of hippies, drunk high school girls, and Molly'd out festival-goers alike. I, being tuned up on Early Times, was waiting for a friend when some four-eyed nerd struck up a conversation with me.
"Shut up, Glasses," was my way of drunkenly introducing myself. Before I knew it, I was sprinting through the wood maze away from Glasses and two of his boys. My sandal got stuck in a pile of mud but I had no other choice but to keep running for fear of having to explain to my friends that I got a black eye from some Computer Science majors.
When I woke up the next morning, my memory (albeit fuzzy) told me that my sandal was somewhere between the Drum Circle and the food stands. And I was not about to go find it.
Scaries Level: "Eh, someone's got a spare."
After the Wayne Rooney Incident, I was forced to spend my freshman year spring break doing community service instead of hitting the coast for some reggae music and babes. Because I didn't want to squander my entire week off school, I took a pit stop at the University of Michigan for a night out. Like any 19-year-old with a limited tolerance, the fraternity party we attended turned into me waking up and asking, "Hey, has anyone seen my keys?" After looking for the better part of the morning, they were considered a lost cause. The worst part? My mom had to drive four hours to deliver a set of 1995 Subaru Legacy keys to her son who was coming home to knock out some community service. I was the apple of her eye.
Side note: my community service? I graded papers for my hot high school Spanish teacher and hung out with Tube Socks. She didn't give me any free hours for the work I put in, forcing me to complete every last minute of all forty. Much like the cheek kiss she gave me at a Kid Rock concert, this clearly showed that we were in Mrs. Robinson territory.
3. A Friend
Scaries Level: "Seriously, guys, where the fuck is he?"
Losing your friend is a gift and a curse. After all, one of the best parts about going out is being able to rehash the massive night with your boys come morning. But at the same time, he could be at some 10s house taking a bubble bath and eating grapes. When one of your friends goes AWOL, anything is on the table.
You simply have to run through the options of where he could possibly be — a hotel room, his car, his own place — and hope that he's anywhere but his ex-girlfriend's apartment or jail (and it's debatable which is worse). Because, at the end of the day, you really need all hands on deck for your hangovers. It's the tried and true Sunday Scaries sentiment: if we’re all Scared collectively, we’re less Scared individually.
2. Wallet / Credit Card
Scaries Level: "What's the appropriate period of time I have to wait before going back to that bar?"
You forgot to close your tab; you left your card in the bill at the sushi place; you said, "hold this" before handing your wallet off to some girl so you could murder the dance floor uninhibited by things in your pockets.
Whatever the case may be, the event of losing a wallet or credit card is something each and every one of us has had to face at some point in our lives. And while checking your bank account to ensure you didn't get Robert Allenby'd with phantom strip club charges solves part of the problem, it's only the beginning.
There's a rolodex of measures that you have to take to minimize the fiscal and mental damage of losing your card:
- Call all establishments visited the night prior; pray you only have to call one.
- Cancel any and all cards with involvement in the case; mooch off your friends until further notice.
- Go to the previous night's bar and put brunch on your still-open tab.
Scaries Level: "Hopefully a homeless man in downtown Detroit doesn't have it."
Bar none, waking up phoneless is the Super Bowl of losing shit. No one with an entry-level job can afford an iPhone without a contract, and no one our age wants to be known as the dude rocking a fucking Android. Your phone's probably dead, you can't retroactively erase the embarrassing texts you sent the night before, and it's probably wedged in the passenger seat of a taxi in rural Kentucky (been there before).
And if "Find My iPhone" can't do the trick, you're staring the trials and tribulations of going an extended period of time without an iPhone directly in the face.
Just last December, by buddy lost his phone in downtown Detroit. After failing to find it in a timely manner, he finally manned up and bought a new iPhone. Shortly thereafter, it came to light that the following dude found his phone. Being the nice guy that my friend is, he unlocked the phone for the guy and let him keep it.
Then this transpired:
And I'm not sure what's more savage: the fact that she took a selfie on a toilet or that she has her read receipts on.