Firstly, sorry for calling you idiots.
I’m sure you’re all reasonable, lovely humans on an average, sober day but your tendency to sink one too many tins and jump behind the wheel is, in fact, idiot territory. You are, as Helen Mirren puts it:
Don’t get me wrong. I see you down the pub, at the wine bar, and BBQing with your mates. I see you throwing back those bevvies, ordering that second bottle and saying yes to a cheeky shot. I see you living your best, bougie life. And I’m here for it. Your happiness makes me happy. I thrive on your good vibes.
What I’m not about is that moment at the end of the night when you convince yourself you ‘feel okay’, grab your keys and drive home. I hate it when you do that.
‘Feeling okay’ doesn’t equate to being sober, guys. After a few red wines, I feel great. My Spanish improves, my game improves, I tell an excellent anecdotal story. I, for all intents and purposes, ‘feel okay’. But I am not, my dearest, under the limit. And I should not, my lovelies, drive home.
What I should be doing is ordering an Uber and politely asking the driver to swing past a drive-thru on the way. I should be sitting in the back seat smashing a greasy burger, scrolling my exes IG feed. Maybe buying something unnecessary online. Perhaps telling my best mates that I love them.
I should definitely, under no circumstances, be giving anyone I love a lift.
It’s one thing to drive sober and be responsible for the literal lives of your passengers on a normal day. It’s another thing entirely to do so after sinking four after-work beers in quick succession. I’m sorry, but your Jurassic-sized parma doesn’t cancel out the amount of booze in your system.
The thing is, you’re not a fully-functioning adult right now. You’re under the influence and it can very easily lead to a hefty fine, car crash, serious injury, or hell, even death. And besides potentially hurting your mates, do you know what happens when there’s a crash and someone (heaven forbid) dies and you’re caught driving over the limit?
It’s called manslaughter. And it’s serious. Like, jail time serious. Screw up your life serious.
I’m sorry to go full scare-tactics right now, but I worry that you guys aren’t listening to me. Just like you didn’t listen when you were 19 and getting your RSA license. You just copied the answers off the guy next to you. I saw you do it. And now you’re a grown up with no comprehension of standard drink sizes. Like, did you know an average glass of wine normally holds between 1.5 and 1.8 drinks? That’s right. One glass of wine doesn’t mean one standard drink.
Everything you currently believe is a lie. And I’m here to set you free.
I’m here to tell you that the risk isn’t worth it. You need to stop pretending that you’re invincible. Leave your car at the pub for once. Maybe catch public transport. Invest in a breathalyser, keep it under your front seat, pull it out for party tricks at the next festival. Just stop sitting your spewy, silly self behind the wheel.
Drink drive? Nah, not worth it.
A concerned (but frustrated as hell) mate
PS. Don’t want to take my well-meaning advice? Maybe you’ll listen to these guys.