The Best Time I Fell Down at a Party

by The Hairpin

I’d just been dumped and was doing that “I’M FREE, I’M SAYING YES TO EVERYTHING” thing you do (it’s known as going full-Eat Pray Love in some circles) and so said yes to being in a CHARITY DATE AUCTION for AFRICAN CHILDREN (that’s literally all I was told, and I’m still not sure which African nation’s youth benefited from my humiliation). I spent all day getting ready, and I thought I looked really fly. Then I got there and drank a Long Island Iced Tea because I only had $5 on me, and the only person who bid on me was a creepy friend of my roommate’s — there had apparently been some plan amongst the other girls to have their boyfriends show up and outbid anyone who tried to win the dates, but I didn’t have a boyfriend, remember? Probably trying too hard to sell myself to any potential non-creeps, I leaned so close so the emcee when he asked me a question that I promptly fell off the wood box/makeshift stage I’d been standing on. No one laughed, which made it worse — it was just me, on the floor, clutching my ankle/pulling my skirt down in total silence. I managed to pick myself up off the floor and a few people politely clapped, but mostly they avoided looking at me.

Creepy Guy won the auction and took me on a date “inspired by the beautiful city we live in,” which was really just going to a bunch of bars as he tried to hold my hand, waist, or elbow — because, as he reminded me a hundred times that night, I DID have a history of falling down. — Angela Serratore

I was in college going from one party to another with this guy I had a huge crush on, and because I was incredibly fashionable, always, I was wearing glittery gold Birkenstocks (they were actually knockoff gold Birkenstocks, because it’s important to have nice things but also save money). Anyway, we were taking a vaguely forest-y shortcut from one backyard party to another, Solo cups in hand, and so of course I tripped on a root in my horrible gold shoes. My cup went flying and I hit the ground, but the guy was super sweet and helped me up right away. I was embarrassed, though, and apologizing — “Oh jeez, I’m so sorry, I swear I’m not super drunk or anyth — “ when I immediately fell down again. And again he’s like, “Oh my gosh, are you OK?” and I’m like, “Yes, this is just incredibly humiliating,” and we kept walking and I was slowly trying to recover from how ridiculous it was to fall down twice when I fell down again, in exactly the same way. I don’t even know how to make the rest of this story interesting, other than on this VERY SHORT walk from one party to another I fell down five times. I wasn’t drunk and still have no idea what was going on. — Edith Zimmerman

When I was 21, I was invited to a New Year’s Eve party with my sister and her older, cooler friends, whose respect I’d spent my teens trying and failing to earn. And for most of the party I did great — a mature superstar drinking alcoholic beverages I’d purchased myself (specifically, pre-mixed Long Island Iced Teas, made with malt liquor), from a keg cup with a crazy straw and a lemon wedge. Classy! But after the sparklers at midnight things went downhill quickly, and my sister knew it was time to leave when she found me on the couch caressing the face of a stranger named Chance whose gold chain and velour tracksuit I’d been mocking just hours before. “Alright, time to go!” she announced, pulling me up by both hands. As soon as I was upright, however, she let go, and, like a board, I fell straight backwards across the coffee table full of chips, dips, veggie trays, Taquitos (!), and cream puffs, the majority of which landed on the velour lap of Chance, who jumped up and yelled at me. (Asshole!) The whole party froze, and mercifully that’s all I remember. Two people Weekend-at-Bernie’s-d me out to the car, and when we got home I barfed on a bush in my parents’ front yard. I haven’t seen those people since. — Mary Miller

It was Internet Week a couple of years ago, and my friend and I were celebrating having organized a panel on how the Internet was changing something. We decided to go to a party in the Meatpacking District hosted by a company that enjoys mashing up politics and boobies into one easy-to-understand Web product. Appropriately, there was a kind of banquette situation, which people were dancing on despite it being covered with granite, like a kitchen countertop. Of course there was a moment at which that granite started to become ever wetter with the spilled mixed drinks of the people dancing on it, and a moment when the large bouncer-ish man trying to dance with me was no longer able to act as the kind of “railing” preventing me from slipping and falling down to the occupied seats below, despite his considerable arms. It wasn’t so bad. It was just one of those disappointing moments when you realize your brain, which has been telling you you’re not drunk for hours, is a liar. This was also the first time I communicated with someone about leaving a club that didn’t involve “DO YOU WANNA GO?” and a screwed up “I’m tired” face. Our evacuation was mutually and nonverbally agreed upon, and instantaneous. — Liz Colville

Previously: The Best Time I Ever Swore at Someone.

Photo via Flickr

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