Musings of a DD

I worked Saturday night. From the hours of 5 p.m. to 12:15 a.m., I washed dishes, served customers and cleaned the little store I work at until my hands were wrinkly and dirty. For my services, I earned two things: money on my paycheck and a phone call. I picked up my phone after getting out of my late-night shower and heard jumbled expletives and yelling from which I could only decipher this:\n"Jake? -- Shut up I'm tryin' to talk to somebuddy -- Jake?! -- Are you sober? -- Jake, wait a minute -- HEY, GET YOUR DRUNK ASS BACK HERE -- Jake?! Can you come pick me up, I'd really 'preciate it -- there's a big fight and I think -- hold on -- HEY, DON'T HIT HER! -- JAKE, PLEASE COME GET US!" \nClick.\nSo I went about my way as a designated driver, as most who get the job, having not the faintest idea of where my friends were or what (whom) they were doing. I started by calling some of my other friends and after a short period of time and five voicemails, was able to ascertain where I needed to be in order to roll my four, drunken friends into the back seat of my little Honda Civic. \nAfter enduring their slurred words, drunk dials and yelling, and finally making it home for the evening, I began to remember all those times when I've had the immense pleasure of being the DD. While designated driving is a great system that no doubt saves lives, I have put together few musings on the dangers of being a DD.\nFirst, it's a common occurrence that as a designated driver with a compact car, you are asked to take five or six people home. So, you attempt to squeeze these drunk people into your car (any of whom could explode with vomit without notice), stacking them one upon the other, hearing screams about who touched whose butt and listening to them all try to talk loudly at the same time. This doesn't exactly scream "SOBER!" if a cop were to see you driving.\nAlso, it's your job as the DD and as the cool-headed sober one to break up any fights or unauthorized hookups that might be occurring. The second is more difficult than the first, especially when you have to pull your friend's tongue out of the other person's throat and drag him or her kicking and screaming to the car. They will probably thank you later, but tonight they'll damn you to hell. \nThis, however, is nothing compared to the toughest job a DD can have: making sure your hammered, moron friends don't get hit by cars when stumbling out of the bar. Remember, ended make-out sessions can resume later, broken noses from all-out brawls will heal, but if a car hits you, you could be dead.\nBeing a designated driver can be rewarding (both morally and if you can con the people you pick up into doing you a few favors later), but the hazards are out there. Don't get hurt. Get drunk and find someone else to drive.