My name is Kenna, and this is my real life story.
I like to think that I’ve hit rock bottom. I like to think that for me, there’s only up, because, I mean, I sat in quarantine for my 21st birthday. And that would have been fine, except, well, I got drunk alone and flirted with a DoorDash driver who later hit me with his car.
I’m not kidding.
Let me start at the beginning.
I never drank before 21. I was one of those kids, the ones who shied away from any and all trouble, leaving parties if someone even mentioned vodka. I know that alcohol causes drunkenness, and in my mind, for someone under 21, if you’re drinking, you’re basically killing your grandma. But, when the clock strikes midnight on your 21st birthday, things change. Drinking becomes acceptable. And last Monday, I turned 21. I had big plans.
All of that, however, was foiled after I attended church Sunday with a COVID-positive person. Thanks, Nate. So, on Monday, I sat in my room with only a bottle of Shitty K on my desk for company.
I drank it.
I started with 3 shots. And I felt so alive. For the first time in months, I wasn’t thinking about Max, my ex boyfriend who moved to Nebraska after requesting a restraining order from me. I wasn’t thinking about my grades, my undecided major, anything. I was simply drinking.
And then I felt hungry, so I ordered DoorDash.
As I waited for my Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger and medium fries, I looked in the mirror and felt confident. My hair was gorgeous, my skin dazzled like Edward Cullen in the sun, my eyes glazed over like a yeast donut. And I thought to myself, “No man could ever reject my charm, wit and obvious good looks.”
And then my DoorDash driver, David, sent me a text. I peered out my window to see a man, a full ass man, with a beard, a hat and a red shirt, placing my Wendy’s order down, and so I opened the window and started flirting, well, my version of flirting … it isn’t successful. I pulled my t-shirt down so a slight bit of collarbone showed. I winked with both eyes, one after the other.
I said, “Oh David, what if I’m your Goliath?” Nailed it.
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David ignored me and walked back to his car. My next actions are blurs.
I know I called DoorDash customer service. I know I complained that David didn’t “treat me right,” and I know that I can no longer order from DoorDash, GrubHub or Oxford To You. I know that I ran outside and hopped on the front of his car. I know I said, “Are you from Florida? Because only a crazy Florida man would reject me!” And I know I woke up in the hospital with a broken hip after he ran me over.
My name is Kenna, and that’s my real life story.
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