You fumble for your keys, drop them on the ground and have to put your hand against the wall to keep from falling on your ass. Finding the right key again is an effort and you manage to scratch all around the keyhole before actually getting it in. The click of the door unlocking is as satisfying as taking a long-awaited shit. Finally, you can get to bed.
You kick off your shoes so hard they thump against the wall and fly across the floor. You don’t care. You just want to fall over and go to sleep. Tonight was fun, maybe too fun. You stumble down to the end of the hall where your room is, running your left hand on the wall as if you’re blind and without a cane or a dog. The hallway spins like the end of the Universal Studios tour. You want to heave, but you tell yourself as long as you can lie down, you’ll be fine. This is a lie, but you’re so drunk that you believe yourself.
Turning the knob, you lean into the door and bust into the room. You hear shuffling and you slap around for the light switch. A woman yelps and puts the sheet over her head. Your roommate is looking wide-eyed at you.
“Sorry! Sorry!” you say, turning the light back off and slamming the door behind you. You must have walked into the wrong room. You look around, confused. Your room is the last on the left, coming in. You take a few steps back, look at the hallway, and count the doors. One, two. On the right is the bathroom and your other roommate’s room. You take a few steps back down the hall, arriving at the same door. This is your room. Even in your state of intoxication, this is most definitely your room.
A little irritated and no less drunker than before, you knock open the door and flick on the lights.
“Dude. Get the fuck out of my bed.”