The first time I ever woke up in handcuffs, was after a night spent at a Katy Perry concert.
Before I get to that though, I should say that it occurred to me to tell this story after reading a post tonight by 
Not about showers obviously, but waking up in cuffs.
I love live music, so when my friends asked me if I wanted some free tickets to see Katy Perry (I have these two amazing friends that work in ticketing and occasionally give me free tickets to things. I know, right?!) I said of course, I'll take 4.
But then none of my friends would go with me. Not for a laugh, not to see Katy Perry jump up and down (you know?) Not to just get drunk at a live concert at the Palladium. I was bitching about this to a girl I know, Leigha and she was like, "Well, I'll go with you."
So we loaded up a couple flasks with bourbon and went. Don't care one way or another about the music she performs. Never been a huge fan, but she's fucking hot, so I was into that. Her costume designer for the night was doing something that could only be described as a candy-cane snow man with boobs, but there's something plastic or maybe just unnatural about the whole general look and that wasn't even doing it for me. The only other thing worth noting about the concert is her audience. It's this really hilarious mixture of basically two types of people (outside of me and my friend.) 14 year old girls, and 47 year old gay men. Both like to dance, so it was actually a pretty fun show.
Afterwards, Leigha invited me back to her place because her neighbor, a very nice girl with unfortunately mannish hands was having some friends over. I was already a little buzzed when we arrived, so when I was told that there were not mixers, I just filled the glass with ice and vodka, and squeezed in a couple limes. Boom. Poor Man's Screwdriver. Not a great idea in retrospect, but fuck it, yeah?
Leigha's roommate then showed up to the house, having invited most of the bar he was at to come home with him, and then proceeded to go around popping Adderall into the mouths of anyone that wanted it. I'd never tried it, but hoped maybe it would sober me up a bit, since I was doing ok with the girl who lived in the apartment and thought I had a chance to stay.
The last thing I remember from the party was the cute girl with the mannish hands saying, "Look, you're not staying here." To which I replied, "No worries!!! I'll walk home! I don't live that far away!" (I include exclamation marks there, because I'm sure I was talking way too loud with the intention of sounding completely fine with being told to leave, and polite and not totally hammered... which failed miserably.)
Then I woke up.
Walking.
In handcuffs.
It was sunny out, and when I say I woke up walking, I mean, that my brain turned back on as I was moving. It was like in a movie where one scene fades all the way up to white, and then back down to daylight and the scene is already in progress. Like that. I didn't immediately believe I WAS awake since I had no idea what was going on, and had never been in police custody before. So, I was a little... let's say "sassy" to the cops. They wouldn't tell me why I was in handcuffs, so I said, "Look if you're gonna search me, fucking search me. I haven't done anything wrong." To this they replied by slamming my chest down on the hood of the cruiser, kicking my legs 3 feet apart and going through my pockets.
It was not this glamorous...
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OH, shit. I'm awake. This is happening. "You're better at talking to the cops than this, idiot," I reminded myself. From here, they asked me where I lived (which I answered correctly) and a few other things, but STILL refused to tell me why I was in handcuffs. I literally got the, "we're asking the questions, here" line from them, which still makes me laugh.
Then they took the handcuffs off, and drove the fuck away.
That's it.
When I looked around, I realized I had only gotten halfway from the party to my house, I was on Fairfax Blvd. and I had a new pack of smokes in my pocket. Which means that after I left the party, I was somehow coherent enough to trade money for cigarettes at a 7-Eleven. And then a FLASH hit me. It wasn't much information, but it might explain what was happening.
I had a blurry photograph like memory of me laying down halfway in the open door of a storage broom closet, surrounded by aisles that could only be the candy stocked shelves of a 7-Eleven. Was that real? Did I do that? Did I buy the smokes and then decide to lay down on the floor inside the store? Is that why the cops were called?
Right then, my phone rang. It's my sister. She's older than me by 7 years, and lives in the midwest, and has a normal midwest life of husband and church and such. I answered her question or hey, how are you, with, "I just woke up in handcuffs on Fairfax Blvd. How are you?" To which she replied, "I'm pregnant." I remember nothing else of the conversation because I sort of checked out. I couldn't figure out the timeline still. Where I was standing at that moment was half a block south of Santa Monica Blvd. And as I looked around, I couldn't help notice that there wasn't a 7-Eleven, or any other type convenience store for at least 3 blocks in any direction. If the FLASH memory was real, it seemed it wasn't even the reason I got picked up.
The call ended quickly, because I had a lot to think about (and couldn't stop giggling) and she was unsatisfied with my less than joyous response to her big announcement. I myself don't want a family, and definitely don't do the church thing (did I mention it was 7am on a Sunday... maybe I should have stopped by.)
I never figured out what happened, and it ended up being only the first of 3 times that I woke up on the street. Each as inexplainable as the one before, but that's a story for another time.
If you've got a story you want to share, I'd love to hear it.
And if you're friend asks you to go see Katy Perry with him. Go. He needs a wingman, and concerts are fucking awesome.
And one other reason, obviously.
Damn.
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