Riding the backseat of a black Mercedes Benz

It's almost 2am, and I just dove into bed, eagerly anticipating part 2 of that dream wherein me and Kate Beckinsale had just gotten into a big fight. Then my phone rings, crap. Who the heck could it be at this late (or is 'this early') time? Oh, it's a friend of mine. Ignoring the call was my first thought, but then my conscience hit me on the head with a rubber mallet.

"Yeah?"
"Could you pick me up?", she slurs.
"Don't you have a car?"
"Yeah, but I'm too drunk." 10 minutes later, I'm hailing a cab.

I got there, my friend, being propped up by her equally drunk boss, was beside her car while she fumbled through her purse for the keys. As soon as she saw me, she throws the purse in my face, commanding me to fetch her keys. I dive into the bag, fingers sorting through wallets, beauty products and whatever the heck was in that bag. No keys.

"But it's there!" She screams.
"Uhm, no it's not."
"Where is it?!" I was trying to decipher if the question was rhetorical, when her boss sets me aside and hands me a set of keys.
"Here they are, but they don't seem to work", big boss man states matter-of-factly. I look at the keys, and no wonder they aren't of any assistance, they're house keys. "You give it a try." He slurs.
"These aren't car keys."
"But they her keys." Yeah, I know they're her keys, unless you also happen to have the same Hello Kitty keychain. "C'mon, try them." I feign an effort, but before I fake putting in the second key, he snatches the set from my hands and tries each one of the 8 keys himself. "It's gotta be one of these keys." Good luck, Bub.

While they were making a scene with the wrong set of keys, I search the grounds for the right set. I ask the parking staff it they've seen it, as well as the waiters at the watering hole they've just been to. No luck.

"I'll take her home in my car." Big boss man bellows when I got back to them.
"Ok." I say, mentally making inventory of how much change I have for cab fare.
"But I can't find the keys of my car! I can't go home!" She protests. Tragically, this would've made such an entertaining scene, watching 2 drunk people talk, if I were not friends with either of them.
"Huh? Where are your keys?" The boss asks. This is gonna be a long night, isn't it?

Eventually, it was decided by these two drunkards that boss man will take drunken friend home. It was also decided that they would drop me off at my house as well. This was swell, if they both weren't so damn drunk. I offer to drive, but refused. I offer again, citing extreme drunkenness on both their parts, but was refused again. Then we get to his car and I didn't offer to drive again. It was a bad-ass Mercedes Benz CLK black coupe, and you simply don't drive another man's penis extension, no matter what the situation.

"You get in the back, I don't wanna sit in the back." my friend slurs. I take a peek at the back seat, what passed for a back seat anyway. This car was seemingly intended to seat only 2 people up front, a despicably rich old dude and a hot young chick. The back seat was a cleverly disguised, Italian leather-appointed storage space, or a subtle hint to tell any other passenger that he wasn't welcome.

"Maybe I'll just take a cab..."
"No! We'll bring you home." Crap.

I cramp myself in the backseat while they got in, enjoying the spacious legroom that this German import afforded. Doors close, and the boss man puts the thing in drive. The car crawls forward, which was a bad thing considering that the driveway was to the rear of the car.

"Sir, we should be in reverse. SIR, REVERSE!" He finally gets it, after hitting the 6 foot tall signpost in front of the car.
"Oh, that was drive." No shit, Einstein! Did I mention that this was going to be a long night?

The whole scenario was just cruel, me sitting behind a drunk driver, without even having the good sense to be drunk as well, if only to numb the impact of any impending wreck. The short 2 kilometer drive was horrendous, he was either flooring it or hitting the brakes. I could feel my nuts making their way to my throat each time the wheels screeched to a halt or spun forward. I was hoarse screaming directions for my dear life. (Stop light's red! No, don't go over the curb! Don't hit the homeless guy! Slow down on the intersection, for the love of God!!!) As soon as we got to my building, I jumped out and gave thanks to the gods. As I lean in to buss a goodbye to my friend, she says "Hey, follow me to my house, please?".

On one hand, this may be construed as an invitation to do any number of naughty things. Things that would totally justify standing up Kate Beckinsale back in dreamland. But could it? Was this alcohol talking? Has the cosmos finally realized its crimes against my person and are handing me my share nirvana? Would my right-handedness no longer be painfully apparent in the morning?

"Sure." I answer as cooly as I possibly can. As soon as the black CLK drove off, I jumped into my clunky Honda (this 'clunkiness' being apparent after my short ride in the CLK) and make my way over to her place in record time.

TO BE CONTINUED...