Stop me if you have heard this story before, as I am sure something similar happens somewhere every week.
I am not a big drinker, never really have been, don’t get me wrong, I am no saint. I spent five years at boarding school, and six away at university, not to mention the influence of the industry I work in. Most of us unwind with a drink or two after work, and we do not always stop after one. Before Saturday night, I would have been hard pressed to recall the last time I was truly drunk. Saturday night was different.
Saturday night my sister, Susan, held a surprise 40th birthday party for her husband, Mark. Mark is a firefighter and a dedicated father of three, but he is also a former high school quarterback, get him together with his buddies and the man can party like a rock star.
I spent a good part of the day helping Susan set up for the party. She did a good job of getting him out of the house, telling him his present was arriving sometime that day, but that they could not give her a specific time. When you think about it, she was being completely honest. His present was the party, and in truth she did not know how long it would take to set up. She rented a dance floor that Luke (my other brother-in-law) and I put together in the living room after we moved all the furniture to the garage. Luke then set up the stereo with an old set of speakers I lent Susan for the occasion (more on that latter). She even rented a tent that we set up outside the sliding doors at the back of the house, to serve as the bar area. Luke managed to secure a keg and Susan was able to keep everything out of Mark’s way by storing everything at our mother’s house.
Susan had arranged the surprise well in advance, and everyone did a great job of keeping Mark in the dark. Anticipating the copious amounts of alcoholic beverages that everyone was likely to consume, Susan had arranged for people to take cabs or stay over at friends and relatives in the neighborhood. No need to worry about drinking and driving, and perhaps this goes a long way to explaining my behavior.
By the time I arrived at 11:30pm, there was still a good crowd and everyone was in full drunken party mode. One of these days I will sit down and tell you about the restaurant I worked at after I graduated from university. It was a great place to work and I made some good friends while I was there. Ivan was a career server and supplemented his income with a woodworking shop he had set up in his garage. He was married with three children, and a typical maritimer. That is to say, he could drink like a fish and had a very high tolerance for alcohol. Ivan had some great expressions, some of which I have adopted myself. For example, every time we sat down for a beer he would follow the first mouthful with a satisfied sigh and proclaim; “that tastes like more.”
Saturday night that first taste of draught tasted exactly like more, and more, and well you get the idea. By the time I left to walk home, somewhere around 3:00am I was officially three sheets to the wind, feeling no pain, juiced, laced, stewed, totaled, and generally !@#$%^ up. Susan went with an 80’s theme, and everyone really got into the spirit of the occasion, great music and great people. Speaking of music, do you remember those speakers I lent to Susan for the party? Well I only have one now. If you have never experienced a blown speaker let me tell you I am certain it is better to be a little out of it. First the foam around the woofer blew across the room. This was followed by a loud whoop and column gossamer smoke rose from within the wood box. You are probably thinking this signaled the end of the party. Hey not so fast. A little thing like a blown speaker is not about to slow down this crowd. Out comes an ipod and portable speaker system and we barley skipped a beat.
Getting out of bed the next morning was an adventure. In fact, I had to attempt the maneuver twice. The first effort left me feeling dazed and confused. Fortunately I was able to sit back down before falling head first into the bedside table. How ironic would that be, walk home safely in a drunken stupor, only to get myself injured crawling out of bed the next morning?
I wandered downstairs for breakfast, washed two Advil down with a bottle of Gatorade (the only real hangover cure) and then drew myself a long hot bath to sooth my full body aches. Feeling much better, I crawled back into bed and called a friend for comfort and support. I received none, not that I really deserved or expected any, but a man can hope can’t he?
Mid day was fast approaching, so I had four hours to get myself in some kind of condition to work that night. It was at this time I first thought, “I’ll never do that again.” I took a small amount of solace from the fact that both Mark and Luke were apparently in much worse shape than I. Unfortunately, in this case solace did not cure my headache. I spent most of the day in bed.
Sunday was a complete write off and fortuitously the restaurant was slow. Not sure I could have handled a busy night. Fortunately I have been serving long enough that I could do it in my sleep, a fact some of my guests that night can attest to I am sure. The ribbing I took from the rest of the staff was well deserved and in some ways kept my spirits up. Sunday’s we close early, for which I was extremely thankful. I stumbled through the front door, no longer suffering from a hangover, but exhausted and in need of sleep. Once the front door was closed I made a beeline for my bed. Oh how I longed for sleep. I swear, “I’ll never do that again.”
The Barman
