So, last night what should roll in but a bona-fide hipster male, complete with thick scraggly beard and hair, pasty white skin, bony frame, and with bonus iPod! Drunk as a skunk, he was found by a concerned passerby curled up in a fetal position on the street with his face pressed into the concrete.
EMS stated that they had a hard time rousing him, but by the time he got to us, he was in full "let me outta here" mode, waving his hands around expansively, breathing his stench-laden alcohol breath on me, and explaining, "I'm OK now, please let me go, I need to see my girlfriend, I'm a bartender, it's ok, I don't need to stay here."
He failed my usual "walk a straight line" test miserably, as he almost toppled through a glass door, so I sent him back to his stretcher to sleep a little. I even offered him some food, which he declined, and told him he wasn't going anywhere for a while because he couldn't walk and had been found unconscious on the sidewalk.
He sat on the edge of the stretcher and tried to talk without slurring his speech. "No, listen, I need to go home. I have to work tomorrow."
"Yeah," I said, "Me too."
"No," he replied. "But you don't understand. I have a real job."