A First Person Account of a Night at White Trash Wednesday
2:15 PM: Receive text from that one hit or miss friend reading “LETS GET TRASHY TONIGHT Y’ALL”
8:05 PM: Start getting ready. Hop in shower and contemplate the necessity of shaving. Decide to shave legs and armpits but DO NOT shave lady bits in attempt to keep drunk self from going home with a stranger later.
8:06 PM: Experience deep foreboding feeling that maybe that’s not gonna be enough after 10+ PBR’s
8:17 PM: Start getting dressed. Slip into an over priced pair of market Wednesday shorts and the trashiest Forever 21 crop top in my closet. Who even is Lynyrd Skynyrd anyway? Whatever, nobody’s gonna read my shirt. Like what is this, school?
8:46 PM: Realize that despite being an upper middle class white girl from south Florida, I really don’t know much about being a country girl.
9:01 PM: Ask self “what would Taylor Swift do?”
9:03 PM: Passive aggressively post a series of subtweets about each and every boy I’ve ever kissed including but not limited to the one that got away- a striking 16 year old in the Wet and Wild lazy river. Now there’s got to be a song in that.
9:38 PM: Arrive at a pregame of the alcohol variety.
9:39-10:45 PM: Shotgun somewhere between 1-10 PBR’s. Use the word “badonkadonk.” Seriously consider joining in the Rick Scott re-election effort.
10:46-11:35 PM: Look up Groupons for airboat rides. Inquire as to what ever happened to Shania Twain. Re-think agnosticism.
11:57 PM: Start heading over to the strip. Promptly make way up to DJ booth to request The Cotton-Eyed Joe. It feels good to finally be in touch with my southern roots.
12:15 AM: Lock eyes with a staggering country gentleman in camo from across the bar. Commend self for the ability to see him, despite his camouflaged exterior.
12:39 AM: Accept first a dance and then a few swigs of homemade moonshine from my night in shining camouflage. How nice to find another true blood southerner in this tipsy turvy college town.
1:15 AM: Search for friends. After no luck make way back to my prince. Ask what he’s doing later. Accept invitation to go back to his “trailer.” Ha ha he must mean apartment. What a goober.
1:56 AM: Find self in actual trailer park at an actual white trash man’s place complete with an actual collection of hunting guns and a pitbull named General Lee.
2:05 AM: Rapidly text entire contact list for a ride home until finally that promising nerd from baby bio lab freshman year texts back. Bless gamers for being the only specimen both awake and sober at 2 AM on a Wednesday night.
2:37 AM: Finally get home. Change out of white trash clothes and into Lily Pulizer PJ’s. Turn on my real favorite- a Demi Lovato album. Take a deep breath of relief. This is real. This is me.