I attended a Christmas party many years ago thrown by a former employer. It was held at a nearby club and we all were given wristbands granting open bar privileges until 10 or 11pm, something like that. I believe the party started around 7. Plenty of time for me to have far too much to drink.

At some point I decided it was time to leave and successfully retrieved my jacket from the coat check. I vaguely remember a few co-workers saying something to me as I left but it could have been anything from friendly holiday well-wishes to death threats, I have no idea. As I put on my heavy winter coat and stepped outside, a blast of cold air hit me and granted the temporary illusion of sobriety.

I dug into my pockets for some cash, planning to grab a cab home, but found I only had a few singles left. Apparently three or four hours of free booze wasn’t enough and I needed to spend $38 on more drinks. Realizing a taxi was no longer an option I decided walking was the next best idea due to a good portion of my bloodstream being alcohol.

I began to walk in the direction I thought was home, using the stars or tree moss to guide me I suppose, because at some point I was no longer walking on pavement but instead following a dirt trail with tall reeds on both sides and blocked by what appeared to be a dried-up creek in front of me.

“This must be a shortcut,” I remember thinking to myself and continued onward. The small chasm was covered with a sheet of ice so I stepped with caution, not wanting to slip and break my neck. I made it halfway across when the ice broke and I realized it wasn’t dirt I saw beneath the ice, but mud. Cold, hungry mud.

I was knee-high in the thick, wet sludge before I knew what was happening. When I tried to pull my leg out and establish some kind of footing I felt my shoe come off and other leg sink a bit more into the quagmire. I was now missing a shoe and stuck in mud up to my thighs.

I struggled, trying to plant my hands firmly on the ice around me and push upward in an attempt to free myself, but the ice would break and my weight would drop back down again. I tried smashing the ice and wading through the mud, but each time I tried to walk all I did was work myself deeper into the bog. Eventually I was up to my waist and very, very tired. I remember draping my arm across the ice and resting my head on my fluffy down jacket like a pillow. The combination of alcohol, near-zero temperature, and fatigue from battling the mud-that-was-quicksand was winning. I was giving up.

I must have changed my mind because I raised my head again and started searching for another way out. Just above me, slightly hidden by the surrounding overgrowth, was a small wooden dock. It was old and weathered but it looked sturdy enough. I had to stretch every muscle and tendon to grip the edge but was finally able to reach it and start pulling myself up. I remember the sucking sound as the mud released me, as if trying to savor every bit of the meal it was being robbed of. My other shoe came loose just as I did, a fair trade in my opinion. I used all my remaining strength to shimmy toward dry land, taking some of the weight off my arms by walking my knees across the ice. Each time the ice cracked my heart would jump as I feared it was the board above me. It was not, and soon I was on dry land. Drunk, shoe-less, and covered in mud up to my waist.

I still had no idea where I was, but onward I went, my socks so heavily weighted with mud they would flap in front of me like diving flippers with each step. Within a minute or two the random patch of wilderness gave way to civilization once again, and I saw the lights of a main road and a convenience store. I was saved! Well, almost. I still needed to get home.

Have you ever tried to ask a stranger for a ride? They can be reluctant. At one a.m. they can be even more so. If you are caked from foot to torso in brown sludge reluctance is not even close to the response you can expect. I eventually realized no one was going to let me into their car and did what any responsible guy in his late 20s would do in my situation. I called my mother (thanks mom, you’re the best).

I tell this story now and laugh. It really is absurd – blowing my cab fare, wandering around drunk and landing in a man-eating mud bog, asking random people if I can ruin the interior of their car and expecting them to say yes – but in all reality I could have died thanks to my foolishness. I’ve embarrassed my parents quite a few times, but being the child who died waist deep in a patch of mud while exploring the local neighborhood (and not the Amazon rain forest or something) would have taken the cake I’m sure. Imagine the newspaper headline? INTOXICATED FOOL TURNS INTO MUDDY POPSICLE

Luckily I’m not dead (as you can plainly see). I’m also not one to wander around drunk anymore. I still may blow my cab fare if there’s a taco truck or a good cigar lounge nearby, but I know better than to take any shortcuts home if I do.

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