Less than twenty-four hours after soundly decrying Four Loko, I was wasted off it.
I know, I said I had no desire ("None. Zero.") to try it, and that was almost completely true. But my boyfriend brought home three cans and we had a party to go to Friday night. I was sure it was a bad idea and he was confident it was no big deal. I could have refused to try it, but after learning that, according to the Huffington Post, a Four Loko has the caffeine equivalent of two cups of coffee, I figured I could handle it. Yeah, that's a lot for me--four wine coolers and two cups of coffee will most likely get me a serious buzz. But I'm twenty-seven, and though my heavy drinking days are behind me, I figured I could handle one can of this much-hyped liquid hysteria.
Turns out, my speculative descriptions of Four Loko as a "blackout in a can" and a "playfully camouflaged hangover" were dead on. One time during a college summer I took half a Xanax before a keg party; up until I lost my memory I recall having an amazing time. But I'd never blacked out before, and waking up on my friend's couch the next morning was an uncomfortable experience: I had no idea how I'd gotten there, or what had happened in the preceding hours.
It's a known fact that combining Xanax with alcohol causes memory loss; I haven't yet read anything that states the same about whatever the hell is in Four Loko, but it definitely had a similar effect on me--and on my 180-pound boyfriend, who, unlike me, has rarely blacked out in his life.
The party started at ten on Friday, so after an early dinner, we each popped a can of Four Loko around eight. I'd negotiated with myself, deciding to treat the endeavor with respect and cautious curiosity; I did, after all, have some experience with time-intensive alcohol consumption: Power Hour. (For the uninitiated, this is when you drink an ounce of beer every minute for an hour, which is like drinking six beers in an hour.) And I wasn't even pushing myself to finish the entire can of Loko. The way I figured, at just $3 I could simply sip until I felt satisfactorily buzzed; the equivalent of a couple drinks for a fraction of the price.
An hour later, I was guzzling the last of my toxic 23.5 oz. beverage.
I'd read that Four Loko tastes disgusting, so it was pretty much what I expected. But my boyfriend, who genuinely enjoys the taste of most energy drinks and is unfazed by descriptors like "cough syrup," was in for an unpleasant surprise when he took his first swigs of Blueberry Four Loko. (To be fair, I'd read that blueberry was the grossest flavor and thus refused to touch it, so his drink may have tasted worse than mine.) I'd never seen him grimace the way he did after swallowing the Four Loko--pinched lips and suppressing a gag reflex. However, just a few minutes later, he reported that the taste had grown on him. And a half hour after that, I understood what he meant.
At first I had to use my Power Hour prowess to force myself to imbibe my Four Loko, which was labeled as fruit punch but tasted more acrid and pungent than any fruit should ever be. I wasn't interested in drinking a full ounce every minute, and just reminded myself to take a slurp every few minutes. After a few deliberate, horrid swallows, I realized that the drink goes down much, much easier if you can avoid tasting it.
And therein lies the largest danger of Four Loko: Its taste forces you to chug, and therefore binge drink. Beforehand, I calmly observed that chugging Four Loko would be a very poor decision, as its alcohol and caffeine content is equal to at least a red bull vodka or two, and I'm not supposed to have more than one of those per hour. Nor do I chug them.
But by eight forty-five I was nearing the end of my massive can of Four Loko (which, by the way, is even less tolerable when it is warm--another incentive for rapid consumption). And I was feeling great.
My boyfriend and I decided to split the third and final can of Four Loco as we took public transportation downtown. Again, I had previously identified this action to be stupid and unsafe, in part because we'd be compelled to drink the whole thing in a short time period, and in part because it is illegal to drink alcohol in public.
But I was already drunk--and loving it!--at this point, and seriously, these cans look like they're for kids. And we certainly wouldn't be the only New Yorkers sneaking alcohol in public on a Friday night. So it was a no-brainer, in part because my brain was already on vacation by then.
I remember enjoying the bus rides, but I don't remember any details except for where we were sitting, a memory that is bolstered by a couple of pictures we snapped before disembarking, in which we look happy and sober.
I sort of remember finding the bar where the party was, just as I sort of remember what the place looked like inside--very dark--and I recall finding my friend and feeling happy. I don't remember a single word of specific conversation, however, though my boyfriend says he found me demonstrating a yoga pose on the floor in the back room.
I do remember leaving, parting ways with a friend and getting in a cab with my boyfriend. I do remember that after we got out of the cab we popped into a local bar, which was unusual. I remember a group of people making noise and beckoning to my boyfriend and me, and I remember feeling excited and welcomed. But it turned out they just wanted us to get out of the way of the dart board.
I don't remember getting pizza, though there's evidence we did. And I don't remember getting home, but I do remember waking up with a distant, familiar feeling of unaccountable unconsciousness.
If that were the end of it I would still probably never drink that swill again--as fun as it may have been, not remembering anything of consequence is frustrating and embarrassing. I don't get to see my friends all that often and I'd really been looking forward to our conversations. I had a good time, I'm sure, but without a memory of the experience, it feels like a bit of a waste.
But that wasn't the only detractor: I was also hungover the entirety of the following day. It wasn't a terrible hangover, but it was terribly persistent--a low-grade swirl of nausea and malaise. An overall sense of grossness and the inability to muster motivation. All. Day. Long.
And that was the outcome of drinking less than 1.5 cans of Four Loko and a few swigs of Bud Light. So I shudder to think what is happening to those who are drinking this stuff in even larger quantities. People who are
trying to get wasted--because that wasn't even my goal, and I ended up tanked. Turns out even the most cautious approach is no match for the persuasive power of (addictive substances) alcohol and caffeine. I was naive to think otherwise, but thankfully I was able to learn my lesson without serious damage (that I know of).
So, remember that Four Loko party my friends are having in Williamsburg? I don't think I'm going to be able to make it.
