I’ve been known to drink from time to time; I’ve also been known to drink excessively. Despite the fact that it is something I enjoy doing, what I do not enjoy doing is throwing up. Sometimes, drinking in excess can lead to such catastrophes. So, I pretty much make it my mission that if I’m going out to get plowed, I stick within my limit to avoid any vomiting. I also try not to fall down and make an ass of myself, but some things are easier to achieve than others.
I have certain steps that I take to reduce the risk of being a drunken train wreck when I’m just planning on being a drunken mess, including, but not limited to:
- Food – I must eat a good dinner before I start drinking and eating while drunk is probably a good idea too.
- Water – drink lots of it. Especially before bed while I’m waiting for the room to stop spinning.
- Never try to ‘catch up’ – this always ends badly but seems like a good idea at the time.
One night, a few years back, I was going to a pub night with a bunch of work friends. A few of us agreed to meet up for lunch/dinner before hitting the bar to meet everyone else. With dunch, I put back two beer and three glasses of water. I was already well on my way of keeping my first two rules. After leaving the first pub, we went to the next pub to meet up with friends. There, I shared a pitcher of beer with someone (another two glasses).
Again, I mentioned that I’ve been known to drink from time to time, so although this may seem like a lot of alcohol to someone that doesn’t drink much. Trust me, it’s not. I’m Irish, Scottish and German; my tolerance to alcohol can be sky high if I drink excessively on a regular basis and at this time of my life I certainly was.
So, putting down four beer over the course of two or three hours was nothing for me. Don’t get me wrong, I would have been buzzed up, but I wouldn’t ordinarily be a train wreck. Needless to say, I wasn’t quite prepared for what came next.
After going outside for some fresh air, I came back to find my spot was taken. I pulled up a spot at the other end of the table and started chatting up the folks there. I realized that my glass/pitcher was long empty and that I should order another drink, but then I also realized that I was really drunk. So when the waitress walked by without taking my order, I didn’t care all that much.
As I’m chatting with these folks, I started realizing that I was having a hard time following basic conversations; I was asking the same questions time and time again, which I noticed when I got the same answers time and time again. I felt like I was about 20 drinks in and I was pretty sure I was going to throw up. I decided to go to the bathroom.
Once there, I had a very difficult time actually using the bathroom because I had to hold onto the wall at all times in order to maintain my balance. Undoing, pulling down, pulling up and doing up my pants was a very difficult task seeing as I only had one functioning hand. That, and I was completely trashed. After I accomplished that task, I started throwing up.
Note - I have never thrown up in bar before or since that night. I staggered out of the bathroom only to find one of my friends approaching me with a look of concern on her face.
Her: Oh, there you are!!
Me: What? Was I gone that long? *sarcastic*
Her: Yeah. You were. *not sarcastic*
Me: Oh… okay…
I went and sat down and immediately realized that I needed to throw up again. I turned around to get up and realized that my friend was still there, standing over me, concerned.
Her: Are you okay?
Me: I’m really fucked up…
Her: You seem like it. Let’s go for a walk.
So we walked out of the bar, down the road and back again. Before turning towards the bar, I started throwing up again. Only this time I was on the corner of a busy street, in broad daylight, with downtown shoppers skirting past. I remember thinking this was an all-time low of my life. The friend that escorted me out was someone that I had lunch with and who shared the pitcher with me. We had exactly the same amount of alcohol; she was fine. I was throwing up outside of a bar at 8pm.
I started freaking out; I kept saying “This isn’t right, this isn’t like me… something is wrong”. She assured me that I was right, but that didn’t keep me from repeating it repeatedly. It was at this point that she suggested the obvious.
Her: You and I had the same lunch, we had the same amount of beer at the Irish Heather and we shared the same pitcher here. I’m fine. And I’ve seen you drink way more before and you’ve always been fine.
Me: I know, that’s what is so weird. I don’t know what went wrong.
Her: Someone put something in your drink.
Of course. It was around this time that she convinced me to call my dad. My dad, a fellow that rarely crosses the river, had to drive 45 minutes to downtown Vancouver in order to pick up his drunk-ass daughter. Naturally, my friend had to do most of the talking when I was making the call because I was a mess. If it was up to me, he would have been waiting outside of the first bar that we went to because, apparently, I’d forgotten that we’d moved on.
My dad drove me home, put me to bed and told me to sleep on my side. I woke up the next day with the worst hangover ever; I was sick for 2 days and I haven’t been back to that bar since.