It started innocently enough—just a casual evening at the pub after a long week of classes, group projects, and networking events. A pint or two, some laughter, and the promise to head home early. But as with many things in life, especially in Oxford, the night had other plans. One pint turned into two, two turned into shots, and before I knew it, I was deep into a drunken adventure that would, for better or worse, become one of the more memorable nights of my MBA year.
The pub was packed with classmates, the kind of boisterous energy that comes from the perfect mix of camaraderie and alcohol. Conversations overlapped, voices rising to compete with the music, and the clinking of glasses punctuated every story. Someone ordered a round of tequila shots—why tequila, I’ll never know—and from that point on, things became a blur.
At some point, I found myself in the middle of a wildly animated debate about the future of blockchain technology, a topic I barely understood even when sober. I remember gesturing enthusiastically, sloshing my drink dangerously close to the edge of the table, and passionately declaring something that made absolutely no sense but was met with a raucous cheer nonetheless. Whether they were laughing with me or at me, I’ll never know—and honestly, I don’t care.
As the night went on, the pub began to spin. Not metaphorically—the floor genuinely felt like it was tilting, and I had to clutch the back of a chair to steady myself. Someone suggested moving to another bar, and in my drunken wisdom, I declared this the best idea I’d ever heard. Outside, the cold air hit me like a freight train, momentarily clearing my head but doing nothing to improve my coordination. I wobbled down the cobblestone streets, arms linked with classmates who were equally unsteady, all of us laughing uncontrollably at nothing in particular.
At the next bar, someone thought it would be funny to convince the DJ to play the Macarena. Within seconds, half our group was on the dance floor, flailing our arms in what I can only describe as a drunk approximation of choreography. I’m fairly certain I stepped on at least three people’s toes, apologized profusely to a stranger, and then immediately forgot what I was apologizing for.
The highlight—or lowlight, depending on how you look at it—came when I decided it was a great idea to text an old friend back home. “Guess what? I’m drunk at Oxford!!!” I typed, hitting send before realizing I’d accidentally sent it to a work colleague. Mortified, I shoved my phone into my bag and prayed that future me would know how to do damage control.
By the time we stumbled back onto the street, the night had devolved into a chaotic mix of heartfelt confessions and absurd antics. One classmate tried to start a singalong, another attempted to climb a low wall (and failed spectacularly), and I somehow ended up holding a kebab that I don’t remember ordering but devoured with the enthusiasm of someone who hadn’t eaten in days.
The walk home was a comedy of errors. We zigzagged across the street, pausing every few steps to laugh at absolutely nothing, and I tripped over the same curb twice. By the time I finally made it back to my room, I was a mess of smeared makeup, aching feet, and the distinct sense that I’d made some questionable life choices. Collapsing onto my bed fully clothed, I promised myself I’d never drink tequila again—a promise I would, of course, forget by the next social event.
The next morning, I woke up to a pounding headache and a flurry of messages in the group chat. “Last night was epic!” someone wrote. Another simply said, “Macarena = legendary.” I scrolled through the photos and videos with equal parts amusement and horror, cringing at my own antics but also laughing until my sides hurt. Somehow, in all the chaos, I’d made memories I’d never forget (even if I couldn’t remember all the details).
That night reminded me that the MBA experience wasn’t just about academics, career goals, or serious networking. It was about moments like these—messy, ridiculous, and utterly human. And as embarrassing as it was, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. After all, it’s not every day you get drunk in one of the most historic cities in the world, surrounded by classmates who are just as chaotic and wonderfully imperfect as you are.