Whenever I'm... somewhat innebriated, as I may be in writing this, it is clear that I'm the only one. That is to say, I can never be part of a group drinking experience. I'm either the sober one - the designated driver, perse (more accurately, the guy who gets everyone back to the Brighton station before the last train departs), or in fact the roaring, embarassment of a drunk. When you're drunk, every look cast upon you is to some extent, a look of disdain. Gentle pity, or irreverent disregard? The underlying sentiment, in whichever case, is negative. I am a leper, a freak, a twat. I am, a drunk.
I'd rather be the drunk idiot than the sober guy, though. When I'm drunk, my sensitivity to the subtleties of human suggestion and interpersonal relations are heightened. My social autism is inhibited. I realise key points (as I will term them) about my place among large groups. The differences that make me (in polite terms) "unique" or in less forgiving but altother more precise ones, unwanted. The rugby guys sit there, with their physiques about them and the eyes of girls cast upon them, and embrace what is essentially working-class rowdiness under the auspices of middle-to-upper-class boisterousness. Or, snobbery. Get out of jail free. Pass go, do whatever you like.
I'm accutely aware of laughter. I mean to say, I know who is and who isn't laughing at me. Someone tells a joke. On the surface, it's about someone else entirely. However, my presence as the drunk guy has inspired them to think of this anecdote. They are, implicitly and unspokenly laughing at me. I cut a glare, but it is unseen. Except for when I, taking leave of my senses, commit an act which is horrifically (and always uniquely) embarassing, I am invisible. Invisibility. My super power. That, and supernatural gayness. I'll elaborate. Why is it that who I fuck (and not even exclusively, might this drunken me be so pedantic as to point out) is so important to defining my existence amongst peers? The faggot is the faggot is the faggot and must be treated as such. So say God, so say rugby, so say northerners, so say the French. Ooh, subtle.
Where was I? Oh, right. Drunken epiphany. Don't you love it? There's something so fantastic to be taken from the simple pleasure of knowing. Even when what you know, is that everyone, admit it or not, hates you.
