I Ate An Edible On A Trolley Last Weekend And Lost My Mind
Approximately 28 people crammed themselves into a two bedroom apartment to begin the thirtieth birthday celebration. Not knowing anyone other than my girlfriend, I stood next to her at the kitchen counter continually stretching my hand out to introduce myself to others whilst sipping an IPA.
It was just around 1:15, and the trolley wasn’t set to arrive until 2:00 p.m., meaning we had to stand around in basketball jerseys with one another and exchange pleasantries with no freedom of movement for 45 minutes. Alcohol had not lubricated anyone in the apartment enough for people to start mingling with one another, and the scene resembled a middle school dance - with people clustered into huddles only talking to those that knew intimately.
The theme of the party was basketball - the trolley was making stops at bars across the city that had pop-a-shots, and a bracket had been created so that each person had one teammate.
There were to be four rounds of basketball played, with the winners playing a final round game at the last bar close to the apartment where the party had began. Everyone in attendance was required to wear a basketball jersey, and while I feel like a complete and total clown whenever I wear a jersey of any kind, I obliged because I’m a team player (and I knew that my girlfriend would rip my head off had I not followed the rules.)
By the time the trolley arrived I was only into my third beer, but as fate would have it the guy who sat down in front of me with his girlfriend was a fan of my Michigan State basketball jersey. He was a Villanova grad, and we bonded over our mutual hatred of all things University of Michigan related, so much so that by the time our trolley arrived at the first bar I was offered a lukewarm Bud Light out of his jacket pocket. We shotgunned those beers and then made our way into the bar to shoot some hoops.
My team lost in the first round, thanks to a lackluster performance on my part but largely due to the fact that the other team did not miss a single shot. I’m not even exaggerating that. They didn’t miss once. Getting bounced from the first round hurts, but by that time I was well on my way to getting drunk, and when we re-boarded the trolley people were much friendlier. No longer were people sitting down. Girls danced on top of the seats, screaming out of the windows while simultaneously vibing to whatever Cardi B song pulsated through the speakers.
At the start of the day I was regretting committing a Saturday afternoon to riding along in a trolley where I knew no one, but by the third stop everyone was so drunk that it no longer mattered. I bonded with two girls over our mutual appreciation of Vanderpump Rules, and playfully argued about whether or not Jax is a scumbag. And then seemingly out of nowhere, one of those girls pulled a ziploc bag out of her purse. She bit off a piece of what looked like an Airhead Extreme Sour Bite.
“Does anyone want an edible?” she asked matter of factly.
I stared at the sour bite for what seemed like an eternity. In a former life eating an edible while drunk would not do much for me. I used to be a habitual smoker, but in recent years I’ve cut back almost entirely. The confidence from my alcohol induced buzz assured me that I would be fine, and so I grabbed an entire strip, pictured here,
and stuffed it down my throat. At our last stop on the trip everything seemed to be going smoothly for about a half hour. And then suddenly and without warning my vision became tunnel-like. I started sinking into my bar stool and I was having difficulty forming full sentences. I could think about saying them in my head, but as soon as I opened my mouth the words became scrambled and nonsensical. I felt as though my bladder was going to explode.
Before I could muster the courage to try and say “I have to go to the bathroom” I was being herded out of the bar and back onto the bus. As we began driving and my bladder started jostling around in my stomach, I thought for a brief moment about peeing into an empty beer can, but ultimately decided that this was a bad idea. Ten minutes into the ride, I thought I was having a heart attack.
Without another moment's hesitation, I stood up from my seat and asked the driver to let me out at the corner. I sprinted to the nearest building I could find, and inside I realized that I was in a bar. In something that resembled English, I mumbled the words “bathroom”, “drinks”, and “tired” to the hostess and I made a beeline for the mens without waiting for a response. I must have peed for a solid five minutes. I was no longer in control. The edible had the upper hand now. My heart was racing, my mind was all over the place, and my limbs felt and moved like pieces of limp rubber.
My girlfriend found me outside of that bar sitting on a stoop just sort of staring off into the abyss about ten minutes after my pee and she took me home. From there, I spent the next four hours or so in and out of sleep, terrified of any and everything. I don’t know how much weed I ingested on that trolley, but I have to assume it was a lot.
I came to around 10 or 11:00 p.m. that night feeling hungover and still very, very high. To say that eating one of those sour strips was a mistake would be an understatement. I had grand plans early on in the afternoon to keep the party going after the trolley ended. Now, laying in bed and not 100% sure I was even alive I had to ignore text messages saying things like “You still meeting us out?” and “Are you alive? Your IG story is a mess right now lol.” It’s a Monday afternoon and I’m sure most of you reading this are a tad hungover, but take solace in the fact that you didn’t eat an edible, nearly piss your pants, and then proceed to freak out for six hours on Saturday afternoon.