The Mysterious Case of Matt H and the Drunk Stairs

 

by Anna L. Neiger

Matt H is my friend, this law school student who is unlike any other law school student I’ve ever met. He’s absolutely insane (but the good kind of insane), with this crazy red hair and big, drunk eyes. He occasionally wears footy pajamas and enjoys showing his balls–just his balls–to unsuspecting party-goers. Usually, when we hang out, we drink. We are young, we live in Chicago, and the alcohol flows from the taps and occasionally, we are there to drink it. But the problem with Matt H is that when he’s drunk, he has trouble with stairs. And by trouble, I mean he falls down them. A lot.

The first case involved a ladder. Now, I know what you’re thinking; ladders aren’t exactly stairs. But they’re close enough, right? Anyhow, this ladder was white and made out of wood. It wasn’t very tall, but it lived in my old apartment on Hampden and Diversey, and it led up to this little cubby hole above our coat closet. The cubby hole was the perfect size for a twin mattress and a person or two to fit in, so we liked to call it our extra bedroom. Matt H and I, along with my roommates and his friend Jay (who I wanted so badly to kiss) had been drinking at Galway Bay, a bar that was pretty much spitting distance from the apartment. After the bar closed, we all stumbled back home; my roommates went to bed and Matt H, Jay and I smoked cigarettes on our balcony and slurred drunk philosophy to each other.

I wasn’t yet aware of Matt H’s penchant for falling off things while inebriated, so I didn’t worry about him out on the balcony, the railing of which was barely knee high. I didn’t worry about him climbing into the extra bedroom to pass out, either. Except I should have, because no sooner had he ascended to the top of the ladder, then he came crashing down, slamming to the floor and nearly smacking his head on the bright red toilet one of my roommates had trash picked and placed in our living room to serve as a chair.

Luckily, Matt H survived the experience with nary a scratch. Although I’m sure there was some bruising involved.

Or maybe he wasn’t so lucky, because only a few weeks later, we were at an after party with a band we’d just been to see at the Elbo Room. I’d had way too much to drink; I can’t even remember where the party was, and I’m not entirely convinced I ever knew. But what I do remember is Matt H and I whispering loudly in the hallway at the top of a rather steep set of stairs. I was probably asking him about why Jay hadn’t tried to kiss me yet, and he was probably trying to let me down easy for his friend, and I was probably having none of it. Someone from inside the party stuck his head out the door, warning us to be quiet, and Matt H gestured wildly, announcing with his arms flailing that we were sorry and we promised to be quiet from this second on. But he was drunk and the flamboyant gesturing upset his balance and he went tumbling down the stairs head first, backwards with his eyes wide and slightly panicked. And loudly. Matt H is a very loud faller.

He escaped this tumble relatively unharmed, although he did call me the next morning to complain of his sore back and inform me that he never fell down the stairs drunk unless he was with me, which I didn’t believe, not even for a second. Nevertheless, I’ve learned my lesson; don’t let Matt H near stairs unaided when he’s been drinking.

Thank god that boy lives in a garden apartment and only has to navigate roughly six steps on a regular basis.