It's 3:23 in the morning and the phone is ringing, downstairs. Dan runs into the office to check the computer to see who it is calling. It's my 23, almost 24, year old brother Ross. Something is wrong. Something must be wrong. We both run downstairs and miss his call. Never fear. Immediately Dan's cell phone starts ringing. I answer.
Before I can ask what's wrong, I hear noises from a crowded bar. I was going to answer with "are you ok? what's wrong?" and instead I answered with "Are you fucking kidding me?". "Coooorrrreeeeyyyyyy!!!!" he responds. "Are you really drunk dialing me right now?" I answer while I consider driving to St. Louis to kick his ass. "I am sitting next to a DePauw alum right now!" he exclaims. Ah, DePauw. It's a small liberal arts school. It's pretty well known in the midwest but not a familiar school on either coast. Roughly two thousand students attend and the school is well over 100 years old. Therefore, the number of alums that exist in the world is pretty large; especially in a city like St. Louis where DePauw is a popular choice for high school grads. He did not call us to tell us that he met President Obama or that he won the powerball. He called because he was sitting next to someone who attended the same university I did. This is no doubt a conversation he will not remember today. After I hung up on him, he proceeded to call back a few times. Knowing he wasn't dead or in jail, we ignored the calls. This morning, there is a voicemail. It's difficult to get the full effect in a text format so picture a 23 year old guy, most likely wearing a pink button down shirt and designer jeans, screaming into his blackberry in a crowded bar.
"Hey queerbo... I know you guys are married and got a fucking kid in a like a year and it's my fucking nephew but I don't give a shit dude. Pick your game up. It's fun to play. Let's plaaayyyyy."
We saved the message.
I am fairly certain it's been at least a couple years since my last middle of the night drunk dial. Sure, I may make a few calls after a bottle of wine on a weekend but most likely that call is placed around 9 pm, not 3am. In college these calls were frequent. Especially if we were all home on break like Thanksgiving or Christmas. I even recall some drunk emails being sent by myself or friends. One in particular ending in the phrase "this is painful...". I remember getting up in the morning and checking to see who I called the night before. Here's the thing, I didn't drunk dial Grandma. I drunk dialed my friends who were most likely drunk as well. So, while I'm flattered that Ross considers us 'not too old to drunk dial' I was compelled to send him an email this morning setting some parameters. Here's the email.
Please feel free to call us at 3:30 in the morning if you are:
a) on fire
b) in the back of a police cruiser
c) have won the lottery
Sitting next to a DePauw alum in a bar is not a reason to call the house phone and then various cell phones until someone answers. Here's why. BOTH Dan and I jumped out of bed when we saw it was you, ran downstairs, all the while trying to figure out how to wire money to the St. Louis County Jail to bail you out.
I am not sure if you remember your nephew Cannon. I know he is almost 1 and is basically self sufficient but we don't have the luxury of sleeping until noon which you will no doubt do today. Please save this email. That way the next time you're out and meet a DePauw alum, or a member of the Rolling Stones, or in your drunken haze, calling our house sounds like a good idea... you can refer to letters a, b, and c above.
OR maybe the best rule of thumb is to ask, 'would I call mom and dad right now?' if the answer is 'no', don't call us either.
Save your good stories for anytime after 7am (6am your time).
The Best part? Paybacks are hell.