The THUMP Guide to Knowing When to Call it

It has to be one of the oldest human quandaries; when do you call it a night? Is it when you get the feeling at 8pm? It is when your two best friends started having it out over the music? Or is it when you burst into tears after seeing that person you dated for one month six years ago make out with somebody else? I don't know. I really don't. I never have. In fact, I recently drank so much that I threw up, continued to drink, threw up again, and ended up on the floor of a bathroom stall saying to my friend "I'll go home when it's time to go home."

This instance, among others, is why I want to know When To Call It. I asked around and here are 10 warning signs I've learned to look out for.

This is pretty simple. If anyone, ever, anywhere says to you "do you need me to call you an Uber?" then it's your time. I swear this is like one of the ten commandments.

"Democracy is dead! Jet fuel can't melt steel beams! How can these sheeple enjoy themselves!?" Everyone knows Bush Did 9/11, dude, it's not a topic of conversation anymore. Time to go home…. and put tape over your MacBook Pro camera.

How does this even happen? One minute you're minding your business, meeting someone and their girlfriend. They're pouring you a drink, exchanging niceties – "omg I loved Ex-Machina too!" Next minute, they've got a grip on your wrist and they're trying to figure you out. Get out of there before you have to sit down with them on the side of a bathtub for a deep and meaningful.

So you had good intentions. You assembled a legit group of friends. You went out for dinner and drinks and half way through a round of Aperol spritzes someone half-yelled "let's get maggot tonight!" and everyone cheersed. You tried. You came this far. You even took a cab to a random house party. If you're having microsleeps in the middle of your funniest friend's funniest anecdote, that's your cue. You're not having a second wind unless you find illegal drugs (go on, then).

This is really important, listen to me: if you ever and I mean ever start to want to ask the DJ to play your song, you're too fucked up. I don't care if it's the coolest, funnest song ever (which is officially "Inspector Norse" these days, isn't it?) then you gotta go.

We've all been there. Some jerk is talking to you about that time you spoke at their wedding and how beautiful it was. Blah, blah, blah. Meanwhile you're having a wet daydream about that first bite you take out of a mixed kebab. Two meats. Crispy cabbage. Fresh, juicy tomato. Bucketloads of hummus and garlic sauce. Maybe some chips in there if you're good with the Turkish guys. This urge isn't going away. Go to it.

Ugh. I'm getting shivers just thinking about this. This is the official worst time of any night ever. The second time a person says "what do you guys wanna do?" it's all over.

There's always that one guy. Sometimes it's you or one of your friends. No matter who it is, it generally sucks, but at least when it's you and your friends you're having a sick one. If it's some bucket hat who just stopped "Gypsy Woman" (which was going off) for "Drop It Like It's Hot" then the night is ruined. He's not giving up that aux cord for anyone and if he still thinks we need "Drop It Like It's Hot" at house parties then he basically can't be trusted. Also, once the first average R&B hit has been played there's no going back.

If a bra or a belt comes off as a means of comfort, you're in the wrong place. The place for you is horizontal on your bed with your housemate's leftovers and Abbi and Ilana.

I don't know if this happens to you guys but sometimes when I'm out I'll just leave the physical world for a less emotionally demanding place. Not sure where it is but I am uncontactable there and, frankly, the amount of explaining I have to do to my friends when I eventually return to their world really just isn't worth it. I'd rather ascend at home.

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