What I Learned Driving my Drunk Friends Around Auckland

This article is presented in partnership with Auckland Transport

Like a lot of people, I've occasionally relied on a few glasses of fermented grain juice to help me stay lubricated in loud social settings. Despite being a generally outgoing young woman, drinking alcohol to enhance my experience of a night could definitely be seen as a bit of a crutch. But is it a necessary one? Is being sober as de-lubricating as it sounds? To find out, I took on the role of designated driver for my friends in Auckland last weekend.

I arrived at Madame George's to find the party spilling over roadside trestle tables and glasses of champagne, already several drinks deep. I could instantly perceive a vibe gap between me and every other person in the place. This was illustrated perfectly a number of times, including when a girl I'd met approximately 25 minutes earlier leaned in and purred: "I love your hair, I've been staring at it all night". A sober person wouldn't say that, right?

As the volume increased, and the people present had longer to stew in their collective juices, my sobriety hit me like a tonne of bricks. The aforementioned very recent acquaintance was hugging me and, very comfortably, nuzzling into my neck with zero qualms. There's a chance that a few drinks in I might have appreciated this sort of unsolicited physical intimacy. When you're sober and stiff, embracing a stranger that's way more into it than you are feels exactly as you'd think it would: very real and very awkward. At this point I realised it was going to be a very large night for everyone but me.

Heading to Ponsonby Road's Mea Culpa I watched as absinthe shots were ordered for the whole crew. I was handed one of the many soft drinks I didn't pay for that evening, an example of something I learned very quickly: everyone is just so grateful for not having to deal with the admin of Uber or the possibility of actually walking that they will do pretty much anything for you. It's kinda great.

At roughly four/five drinks, everyone's chat game had reached optimum. Turns out when you're not incredibly faded you can actually listen, process and—perhaps most importantly— remember what people say. This is great because a) tomorrow you will have earned the right to smugly tell anyone who will listen how embarrassing they were, and b) it turns out people drop all their pretences when drinking and get super real, really fast.

"He's actually a fucking prick," one member of our party opined, aggressively lambasting an Auckland acting coach.

Another drunken soul nodded over at the acting-coach-hater: "Wow, she's so gone," writing her off with a classic dose of sucks-for-her-but-so-happy-that's-not-me pity.

Drunk people are so willing to hang their fellow drunkards out to dry, happily resolving they can't/won't recover from here. In reality, they're perhaps just as bad, but they get some weird sense of pleasure believing everyone around them is much more of a lightweight than they are. The best part is they'll shake their heads solemnly and look to soda water sipping you for agreement—as the non-drinker you are the ultimate judge of departing sobriety. I just nod and gravely concur. Yes, RIP to the aggressive-acting-coach-hater, by this stage she is very much "gone".

This is one example of sober minded self-restraint/selflessness sending you to the top of the social ladder. Just by not drinking, you can become the kind of primadonna psychopath you don't even recognise because everyone's trying to keep you happy. I shamelessly wielded my influence by impelling the group to Burger Fuel even though it was only 10:07pm. The only downside: there is really no cute way to eat your bacon/beef monstrosity, and when you're sober, you become painfully aware of that dude in the corner watching and enjoying every second.

Returning to K road for a gig at Whammy, the sugar content of said burger was much appreciated as I tried to vibe some hype guy screaming "put your fucking hands up" over sketchy drum and bass. When sober, any human you've never heard of on a stage with a mic in hand is 100 percent going to be a rough time. It wasn't you, Whammy. It was me. Notwithstanding, when you see a crowd of teenagers in mesh struggling to have fun in a super dark basement with lots of lasers, you know it's not amazing. Highpoint of this chapter was watching two boys get into a pathetic slap fight outside Sal's and then being chased away by police.

WATCH: Big Night Out - Drum and Bass

"I've drunk two bottles of wine and don't even feel it," was whispered to me 20 minutes later by someone who definitely felt it. By this stage it was almost 2am. We were in our fifth location of the night (a very worn-out Kingsland villa) and it showed. Snapchat stories were verging on socially unacceptable in length and a coked-up friend of a friend couldn't stop sweating. Everyone was either looking to hook up or head out and we were in the latter category. Surprisingly the ride home was one of the night's best parts. Drunk people are super, super appreciative and want you to know it. They told me they loved me.

I woke up the next day sans the usual metallic mouth and crippling dehydration, confident of the whereabouts of all my possessions. Able to remember everything I did/said, I was close to 100 percent sure I managed most social interactions like a normal person. Also, everyone was super freaking nice to me and let me do whatever I wanted. Gratitude from the inebriated can be just as intoxicating as actual inebriation. Instead of vodka, I pretty much got drunk on power.