I never really found the right thread for this, so here goes:
My sister-in-law was pregnant with her first child. Unfortunately, my brother's job forced him to be out of town during the week. Since I was unemployed at the time and had lots of extra time on my hands, I figured I'd be a good bro and offer to keep an eye on his wife while he was away. Just helping her around the house and stuff. In the event she went into labour and he wasn't there, I was also to accompany her in the delivery room in the dual capacity of friendly face and videographer.
This arrangement actually worked out pretty well for all three of us. My SIL was taken care of, my brother got peace of mind for when he was away, and I had something to keep occupied with other than finding a job. In fact, I was doing so well in my new role, my brother said I could stay on the couch in their basement rent free. Not just during the pregnancy, either. My SIL would need assistance during those times my brother was away after the birth, too.
Things were looking good for me right up until the end of my SIL's term. That's when things went south.
It was a Wednesday night, my brother was away, and me and my SIL were relaxing at the house, watching a little Law and Order: SUV. That's when she decided she needed some shitty hot wings. Only one place for that kind of thing, so off to Chili's we went.
In hindsight, things might not have turned out the way they did had our waitress not been so taken with me. I shouldn't have been surprised. After all, I've been told on numerous occasions that I resemble a young Bartolo Colon. Despite that, I still tend to get nervous around cute waitresses at chain restaurants. As a result, I generally need a drink or five along with a tipple of whatever benzodiazepine I have on hand in order to loosen up a bit. Of course, banging out that waitress not on the table on account of me having to chauffeur around my grievously pregnant SIL, right?
Well, she must have seen in my eyes just how much I needed to get my balls wet that night. Though it was her idea in the first place, I one hundred percent should not have let her by my designated driver while in her condition. But I wasn't thinking with the right head, if you know what I mean (I was thinking with my penis). And so it was that I began double fisting margaritas and benzos that fateful night, with dreams of a future filled with half off appeteasers floating through my head as I did.
Flash forward to a couple hours later: I was thoroughly intoxicated and thinking less about taking care of my third trimester SIL and more about how much Crisco I should use on our waitress after I got her back to the basement.
It was at this point that something terrible happened: my SIL's water broke. Actually, at first, I didn't realize it was her water breaking. My first thought was that it was that I'd spilled some margarita on the floor. After sucking some of it up with a straw, however, I found it to be almost completely devoid of both lime juice and tequila. It was no margarita. At least not one I was familiar with. It was Hector, the busboy, that finally identified it. I tipped him a fiver, then my SIL and I left for the hospital, stopping only at an all night gas station in the opposite direction so that I could pick up some jerky and some road sodas. After taking another small detour - this time to piss on the statue in our town's square, as is tradition - we then went straight to the hospital.
Her labor ended up being a lively affair. Bouts of screaming jibberish and epileptic wriggling were punctuated by impressive instances of gas. It was like Korean fetish porn crossed with slam poetry, only not quite as easy to masturbate to. I tried my best to capture it all on my phone's video camera. An hour in, I realised that I was filming her using vertical video. My bro as going to be so pissed, I thought to myself. As it would turn out, the vertical video did not rate on the list of reasons he was angry with me. More on that in a minute.
My SIL's labor dragged on for what felt like an eternity. By the third hour, witnessing her continued agony had become unbeerable. That's not a typo, either. I mean that the beer I was drinking in the delivery room was no longer helping me get through it. I figured the baby was going to be awhile, so I might as well step outside for moment, maybe head to the all-night convenience store across from the hospital (probably should have hit up that one in the first place lmao) for some more jerky and tallboys, then go back to the delivery room in an hour or so.
By the time I got back, my SIL bad already given birth to a baby boy. I asked her how it was. She told me she it was the most terrified she'd ever been in her forty-six years on this earth. Furthermore, she had searched the room for a friendly face, maybe even one that resembled that of former Cy Young winner Bartolo Colon (only younger), but found none. I apologized, even offered her a tallboy, but she wouldn't even look at me. Just stared out the window while taking the occasional sip.
When my brother came home the next day, my SIL totally tattled on me. He was disappointed in me, but it was of some consolation when I told him I had managed to record the first hour of her labor. Like I said before, he wasn't upset that I had filmed it vertically. In fact, he was upset because I had not actually filmed anything. As it turns out, I thought I'd hit the "video" button on my phone. In reality, however, it was the "camera" button I hit instead. So all he got was one picture and it was of the delivery room floor.
So what was the fallout like? My exercises in poor judgement that night, especially when coupled with my lack of basic smartphone know-how, brought into question my future ability to care for my SIL and their newborn during those times when he was away. They were forced to find someone who could manage that task. Obviously, that person would have to live on premise, most likely on the basement couch. So not only would I have no hand in raising my nephew whatsoever, I was also out of a place to live rent free. A further kick night balls came a few months later, when I was not asked to be my nephew's godfather.