I passed out the other day. Not as a cool consequence of drinking more than I could handle or blazing one too many, but because of a reason far less exciting.
The tale begins with me hurrying to Lauren’s house for Woodcraft, accompanied by Raquel (who I had forewarned of my impending collapse). When we knocked the door, our friend Hannah answered, who I calmly greeted with the following sentiment: ‘Hi! I’m about to pass out’.
Then I passed out.
I was only out for a few seconds, but I think Raquel saved me from the cold stone floor by placing her gloriously thick hipster jacket underneath my head after guiding me to the ground. I opened my eyes not long after, immediately declaring ‘I’M ALIVE EVERYTHING’S FINE’, before being told to lie down again. So I did, with the room still spinning around me and my face smushed against the stuffing of Raquel’s coat whilst simultaneously being engulfed by it. I heard voices around me, all trying to work out what the hell you’re meant to do in a situation like the one that had just occurred.
'Lauren, Lara just passed out'
'Lara passed out, where's your mum?'
'MUM, Lara just passed out'
'Lara passed out?'
'Yeah, she's on the floor'
'Lara passed out, at 8pm on a Wednesday night, and now she's on the floor?'
Then Lauren’s mum was kneeling beside me. The first thing she said was ‘Are you okay?’, to which I replied that yes, I was.
The second thing she said was ‘Have you been drinking?’ to which I replied that no, I hadn’t, and the reason for my (literal) downfall, I whimpered, was that ‘I ate too much pizza’. Which is exactly the kind of thing that somebody who had been drinking would have said.
Not long afterwards Prentice arrived and tiredly asked ‘Why is Lara on the floor?’
Raquel, the storyteller she is, explained what had happened. Then Julian, who had been at Lauren’s house the whole time but was somehow unaware of the situation, came in to ask if Lauren had any firelighters. Oh yeah, the context for this anecdote is that we were meant to be having a bonfire at Lauren’s. The reason that didn’t happen is because we suck at making bonfires. Not because of anything to do with me. I recovered pretty quickly, you may or may not be happy to know, though I’m pretty sure everyone now thinks I’m even more of an alcoholic that they thought before.
Anyway, Lauren did have firelighters, and someone gave me a glass of water and we eventually ended up having a grand old time around our ‘bonfire’.
This is the second time I have semi-publicly passed out after eating too much Italian food. The first time occurred over a year ago, in the ladies’ bathroom at the Odeon Cinema, shortly before I was meant to see The Dark Knight Rises. This first instance was a lot worse, though, a) because I puked on my Batman t-shirt, meaning I had to take it off, resulting in the dilemma of whether to wear my heavy denim jacket in the already-hot cinema, or simply to watch the film topless (I chose the former); b) because I nearly missed the movie, and c) because I was out for 10 minutes this time, meaning the whole toilet block had to be closed off- which is humiliating, to say the least. I remember awakening to an old Mexican man cleaning up my vomit, with the only thing I could think to say being ‘Sorry about that’.
The key difference between these two events, other than the barf, is that in what I affectionately refer to as ‘The Dark Knight Rises Incident’, I had eaten too much spinach and ricotta tortellini, whereas in what I shall henceforth call ‘That Time I Passed Out At Lauren’s House’, I ate- well, too much pizza. You just read it.
I didn’t get doctors involved on either of these occasions because I don’t think there’s anything wrong with me (at least, not regarding my digestive system). Both times I felt fine a few minutes later, so it never seemed necessary (and both times, Julian was present but not present-present, coincidentally). It’s pretty obvious what the issue is. It’s not that I eat too much. The issue is that I eat a lot after not eating much all day, then do exercise (i.e. walking fairly quickly for about thirty minutes) after not moving much all day, and apparently the consequence of this in my particular model of human is temporary unconsciousness.
The most bizarre thing about the whole phenomenon is that, despite all the drunken stupors I’ve found myself in over the past few years, never once have I passed out or even thrown up whilst under the influence. In that respect (and many others, so I’m told), I am an excellent drunk.
I’m just crap at being sober, apparently.