Last Friday, I was at the convenience store on a snack run. A couple of super-drunk college guys staggered inside after me from an apartment complex across the street. As I inspected the candy selection, one lad called from the front of the store: “If you hurry up, I’ll buy it for you.”
The one said across the isle from me: “I’m trying to figure out what will sober me up.”
He stood for several minutes, staring blankly at the beef jerky. I watched to see what he would pick, but he seemed unable to come to a decision. I took pity on him and said, “You want food to help you sober up?”
“Yeah, man. I’m so wasted.”
“Okay, get some pretzels.”
Now, I’ve never been drunk. I have no idea what sobers you up. My reasoning was that he could get bulk pretzels for cheap and maybe if he filled up on them, it would help. I imagined the prezels acting as booze sponges in his stomach. I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works, but I’m not a doctor, so maybe?
“Oh, thanks, man,” he said, then paused. “What about corn chips? Holy fuck, corn chips!”
“Yeah, sure, those will work too,” I said knowingly. Not knowing anything. He thanked me, grabbed a giant bag of corn chips, and left.
Even though I knew my advice was spurious at best, I still got a thrill from doling it out and (sort of) having that advice heeded. I realize now, with some reflection, that this must be how advice columnists feel all the time.