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Ethanol Blues
by Jerico
[The names in this story have
been changed to protect their identity,
even though they don't deserve it!]
Why do people drink alcohol?
I'm asking for a deeper answer than, "It's one
of the only legal drugs." Could it be people
like feeling like shit in the morning?
I went out two days in a row
and drank alcohol.
On Friday, my friends from my old
job at The Salk coaxed me out of my home.
We went to Fred's Restaurant and Bar
in Old Town.
Since The Salk had its annual family picnic
on the lawn, all four of them
had been drinking beer already, and two
of them were drunk. Little Carrie almost fell
over. If her instinct to brace her fall with her
arms failed her, she would have smashed her face
onto the short concrete wall that broke her fall.
It was a 45 minute wait for a table, so instead of just sit
there while we waited, the decision was made:
"Let's go to the bar!"
It was crowded around the bar and we went to the end, close
to the kitchen. During the elapsed 90 seconds since we got there, two of the waitresses managed to tell us that we had to
keep a path clear for them. Slightly annoying.
It was not unsusual that Carrie, a very petite girl-- about 5 foot tall, perhaps 100 or so pounds-- was drunk. As drunk as she was, she sounded like a Bohemian/hippie, flower-girl, but now to the 3rd degree. During my brief first conversation with her, she held up her arm showing me the scraped skin that she had from falling on the wall. She said, "I got these rug burns. I don't know how."
I said, "You got them from from almost falling over. You don't remember?" I smiled.
She didn't remember. Dear Lord!
Meanwhile, the other Carrie, a.k.a. "A Little-Bit-Bigger Little Carrie" had ordered a beer and Gregor was ordering drinks for everyone else. He's very generous like that and, more importantly, he drinks like a fish. Saying "the dude likes to party" is a gross understatement. He's the kind of guy who ends up sleeping in the flower bed. The kind of guy who, after a long night of partying, is awakened in the morning by the squirted water from the lawn's automatic sprinkler system. I'm not exaggerating.
He asked me, "What do you want, Jerico?"
After a breif pause, I said "Rum and Coke."
I like drinks that taste decent, so I usually don't order beer.
In fact, I almost never buy drinks in a bar. Usually a friend does because I avoid ordering drinks. I'm not really a drinker. I'm the most tame kind of social drinker, meaning that I don't really drink alcohol, but under peer pressure, I will have one or two drinks, maybe more if there is a substantial amount of pressure. And if I reach the point of intoxication, which isn't hard for me, I maintain control of my behavior, and don't let it get out of hand, especially since I'm usually a driver at the end of the evening.
To be honest, in short, I'm not a drinker because my dad used to be an alcoholic. Alcohol was almost the death of him, almost truncated in half his present 64 years of existence. It did his brother in, smoking and drinking did, at a relatively early age.
So we were drinking and carrying on at the bar. Gregor had downed two shots of tequila already. Soon enough, we got shown to our table.
A plate of nachos was ordered, and more drinks. Gregor mentioned how he had 13 cups of beer at the picnic. I have no reason to doubt that. At one point, being all cute, he pulled his longish hair over his face, looking like a moppy wig was facetiously placed over his head in comic fashion. His eyes were so dialated, if you shined a light in them, his irises may not have twitched at all.
Little Carrie tried to call her boyfriend Al on Gregor's cel phone.
"He's going to be mad," she said. "He's really possessive. He doesn't like me going out."
Why? I thought. He knows us all. We all hung out at Brick by Brick one time, when we went to see Mindscape play. He should know that she is safe among friends. He should know we are all good people.
"Is he going to be mean to you?"
"No. He won't be mean to me. He's just really possissive.
He's a really great musician. If you ever see him play, you'd see."
She soon got a hold of him, and was talking to him on the cel.
We all had the notion to call Ellen and her hubbie, Shane. They weren't answering the phone.
"They're fuckin." suggested A Lil-bigger-little Carrie.
Then I came up with the idea for all of us to leave a message on their machine. I was the third one to leave a message. Of course, I was theatrical about it.
In my best Cockney accent I said: "'Ello! This is Woosh Oliander! Aiym the gentleman oo slipped me number inta ya back pocket at the club laast weeyk. You caalled mey back, but I di'int get a chaance tew talk tew yew yet." Everyone was laughing.
"Aiym in Old Town riight now. Why don'cha come an joiyn us for some cocktaiyles this eve'nin? Okay, love, see ya soon."
If it weren't for all the laughter, they wouldn't have had a clue who I was. By the time Lil-bigger-little Carrie was leaving a message, they finally picked-up the phone. They agreed to come join us.
Gregor ordered his 3rd and 4th tequila shot, but didn't drink them right away. I made sure that he was eating, putting nachos on his plate for him. I had him do his Igor impression. He has the Turkish scientist's accent "down to a 't.'" Good laughs always out of that.
"I'm going to party all night. I'm not going to sleep tonight," Gregor said.
At one point Little Carrie stood up to go to the bathroom, and I, sitting next to her, lightly grabbed her arm, uncertain if she would fall over or not.
"Would you like me to go with you?" I asked.
"No it's ok." And walked off.
"You're going the wrong way." I gestured to the other Carrie. "Can you go with her?"
Lil-bigger-little Carrie, went off with Little Carrie in the wrong direction. What they ended up doing, since the rest area was located in the back part of the patio were we were sitting at, went out the front and circled the perimeter to the back.
It was a bit of a spectacle. Quite a few people at the table next to us were watching. I acted as though everything was just fine and dandy.
When Ellen and Shane arrived, they ordered margaritas. Gregor decided it was time to drink shots 3 and 4.
"Anyone want to drink one with me?" he offered.
No one was game. I thought: All I had was one drink so far, I should drink it.
"I will." There was approval, like applause from everyone. More like relief that they weren't the one to do it.
I took the lime and shot glass. Held it up.
"Saludos!" I said.
"Saludos!"
We clicked glasses and then I mirrored Gregor: bit the lime and then down the hatch went the tequila.
Soon enough, he ordered one more shot. Oh god!
Little Carrie wanted to call her boyfriend again. She asked to use my phone, since Gregor's was almost out of batteries. We tried several times, but Al was either on the line or left the phone off the hook. Then she began to lay her head down on her arms, laying on the table like she was going to sleep. I rubbed her back, asking if she was ok.
Mercifully, the event came to a close and we all stood up to leave. Gregor didn't drink shot 5 yet, but I was hoping he'd forget about it. I don't know if he drank it or not before we walked out, having paid the bill.
It was about 11pm, which isn't so bad considering that Gregor and bigger Carrie had to work at 7am the next morning.
Three of us were driving: Bigger Carrie, Shane, and myself. All of us were ok to drive. The drunkest were not going to be at the wheel.
"I'm taking Gregor with me to my house, and will drop him off at work tomorrow." This made the most sense because I live close to The Salk while Gregor doesn't and takes public transportation to get around.
I said to bigger Carrie, "I'll just drop his limp body off at the front gate, and I'll call you at the office so you can come get him."
"Haha! Yeah," she responded.
Little Carrie went with Ellen and Shane because they all live in the beach area.
Farewells and hugs were exchanged, and off to the cars we went.
When we got to my house, I pulled out my couch bed for Gregor to crash on.
"Gimme your cel phone. I'll charge it up for you." We have the same kind of rectangular Sony Ericsson phone. I connected the charger chord to it.
Gregor laid down, and almost immediately fell asleep. So much for staying up all night, eh?
I set up my wind up alarm clock and the alarm on my cel phone-- my patented "fail-safe" technique. Then checked eMail before going to bed.
In the morning, I noticed Gregor had a message on his phone, I gave it to him. After checking it, he told me that Al had left a nasty message. He handed it over to me and I replayed it.
It was an anger-filled voice and the message was something very close to this:
"Yeah. I don't know if you're going to answer the phone or not, but tell Carrie to GET OFF THE BOTTLE! and come home. Cuz if she doesn't, I might leave and she won't be able to get in because she doesn't got a key."
Then there was one last sentence which I can't recall for some reason but it had the word "FUCK!" in it.
"Dang! That guy has issues," I said. Thinking further, I thought that the big issue is drinking alcohol. Considering the "get off the bottle," message, and the way petite Carrie handles alcohol, I can sympathize with Al to a certain degree. He obviously is a controlling, possessive type though.
I dropped Gregor off at work on time. It was 7am and I had planned on making it to a free computer class at 8 am that morning. I felt like shit.
"Fuck that!" I said to myself. "I'm not going." I'll take it next time.
But really... FUCK ALCOHOL! and the abusive behavior related to it.
But really, really... FUCK PEOPLE! and all the stupid things we do.
End of Part 1
by Jerico
[The names in this story have
been changed to protect their identity,
even though they don't deserve it!]
Why do people drink alcohol?
I'm asking for a deeper answer than, "It's one
of the only legal drugs." Could it be people
like feeling like shit in the morning?
I went out two days in a row
and drank alcohol.
On Friday, my friends from my old
job at The Salk coaxed me out of my home.
We went to Fred's Restaurant and Bar
in Old Town.
Since The Salk had its annual family picnic
on the lawn, all four of them
had been drinking beer already, and two
of them were drunk. Little Carrie almost fell
over. If her instinct to brace her fall with her
arms failed her, she would have smashed her face
onto the short concrete wall that broke her fall.
It was a 45 minute wait for a table, so instead of just sit
there while we waited, the decision was made:
"Let's go to the bar!"
It was crowded around the bar and we went to the end, close
to the kitchen. During the elapsed 90 seconds since we got there, two of the waitresses managed to tell us that we had to
keep a path clear for them. Slightly annoying.
It was not unsusual that Carrie, a very petite girl-- about 5 foot tall, perhaps 100 or so pounds-- was drunk. As drunk as she was, she sounded like a Bohemian/hippie, flower-girl, but now to the 3rd degree. During my brief first conversation with her, she held up her arm showing me the scraped skin that she had from falling on the wall. She said, "I got these rug burns. I don't know how."
I said, "You got them from from almost falling over. You don't remember?" I smiled.
She didn't remember. Dear Lord!
Meanwhile, the other Carrie, a.k.a. "A Little-Bit-Bigger Little Carrie" had ordered a beer and Gregor was ordering drinks for everyone else. He's very generous like that and, more importantly, he drinks like a fish. Saying "the dude likes to party" is a gross understatement. He's the kind of guy who ends up sleeping in the flower bed. The kind of guy who, after a long night of partying, is awakened in the morning by the squirted water from the lawn's automatic sprinkler system. I'm not exaggerating.
He asked me, "What do you want, Jerico?"
After a breif pause, I said "Rum and Coke."
I like drinks that taste decent, so I usually don't order beer.
In fact, I almost never buy drinks in a bar. Usually a friend does because I avoid ordering drinks. I'm not really a drinker. I'm the most tame kind of social drinker, meaning that I don't really drink alcohol, but under peer pressure, I will have one or two drinks, maybe more if there is a substantial amount of pressure. And if I reach the point of intoxication, which isn't hard for me, I maintain control of my behavior, and don't let it get out of hand, especially since I'm usually a driver at the end of the evening.
To be honest, in short, I'm not a drinker because my dad used to be an alcoholic. Alcohol was almost the death of him, almost truncated in half his present 64 years of existence. It did his brother in, smoking and drinking did, at a relatively early age.
So we were drinking and carrying on at the bar. Gregor had downed two shots of tequila already. Soon enough, we got shown to our table.
A plate of nachos was ordered, and more drinks. Gregor mentioned how he had 13 cups of beer at the picnic. I have no reason to doubt that. At one point, being all cute, he pulled his longish hair over his face, looking like a moppy wig was facetiously placed over his head in comic fashion. His eyes were so dialated, if you shined a light in them, his irises may not have twitched at all.
Little Carrie tried to call her boyfriend Al on Gregor's cel phone.
"He's going to be mad," she said. "He's really possessive. He doesn't like me going out."
Why? I thought. He knows us all. We all hung out at Brick by Brick one time, when we went to see Mindscape play. He should know that she is safe among friends. He should know we are all good people.
"Is he going to be mean to you?"
"No. He won't be mean to me. He's just really possissive.
He's a really great musician. If you ever see him play, you'd see."
She soon got a hold of him, and was talking to him on the cel.
We all had the notion to call Ellen and her hubbie, Shane. They weren't answering the phone.
"They're fuckin." suggested A Lil-bigger-little Carrie.
Then I came up with the idea for all of us to leave a message on their machine. I was the third one to leave a message. Of course, I was theatrical about it.
In my best Cockney accent I said: "'Ello! This is Woosh Oliander! Aiym the gentleman oo slipped me number inta ya back pocket at the club laast weeyk. You caalled mey back, but I di'int get a chaance tew talk tew yew yet." Everyone was laughing.
"Aiym in Old Town riight now. Why don'cha come an joiyn us for some cocktaiyles this eve'nin? Okay, love, see ya soon."
If it weren't for all the laughter, they wouldn't have had a clue who I was. By the time Lil-bigger-little Carrie was leaving a message, they finally picked-up the phone. They agreed to come join us.
Gregor ordered his 3rd and 4th tequila shot, but didn't drink them right away. I made sure that he was eating, putting nachos on his plate for him. I had him do his Igor impression. He has the Turkish scientist's accent "down to a 't.'" Good laughs always out of that.
"I'm going to party all night. I'm not going to sleep tonight," Gregor said.
At one point Little Carrie stood up to go to the bathroom, and I, sitting next to her, lightly grabbed her arm, uncertain if she would fall over or not.
"Would you like me to go with you?" I asked.
"No it's ok." And walked off.
"You're going the wrong way." I gestured to the other Carrie. "Can you go with her?"
Lil-bigger-little Carrie, went off with Little Carrie in the wrong direction. What they ended up doing, since the rest area was located in the back part of the patio were we were sitting at, went out the front and circled the perimeter to the back.
It was a bit of a spectacle. Quite a few people at the table next to us were watching. I acted as though everything was just fine and dandy.
When Ellen and Shane arrived, they ordered margaritas. Gregor decided it was time to drink shots 3 and 4.
"Anyone want to drink one with me?" he offered.
No one was game. I thought: All I had was one drink so far, I should drink it.
"I will." There was approval, like applause from everyone. More like relief that they weren't the one to do it.
I took the lime and shot glass. Held it up.
"Saludos!" I said.
"Saludos!"
We clicked glasses and then I mirrored Gregor: bit the lime and then down the hatch went the tequila.
Soon enough, he ordered one more shot. Oh god!
Little Carrie wanted to call her boyfriend again. She asked to use my phone, since Gregor's was almost out of batteries. We tried several times, but Al was either on the line or left the phone off the hook. Then she began to lay her head down on her arms, laying on the table like she was going to sleep. I rubbed her back, asking if she was ok.
Mercifully, the event came to a close and we all stood up to leave. Gregor didn't drink shot 5 yet, but I was hoping he'd forget about it. I don't know if he drank it or not before we walked out, having paid the bill.
It was about 11pm, which isn't so bad considering that Gregor and bigger Carrie had to work at 7am the next morning.
Three of us were driving: Bigger Carrie, Shane, and myself. All of us were ok to drive. The drunkest were not going to be at the wheel.
"I'm taking Gregor with me to my house, and will drop him off at work tomorrow." This made the most sense because I live close to The Salk while Gregor doesn't and takes public transportation to get around.
I said to bigger Carrie, "I'll just drop his limp body off at the front gate, and I'll call you at the office so you can come get him."
"Haha! Yeah," she responded.
Little Carrie went with Ellen and Shane because they all live in the beach area.
Farewells and hugs were exchanged, and off to the cars we went.
When we got to my house, I pulled out my couch bed for Gregor to crash on.
"Gimme your cel phone. I'll charge it up for you." We have the same kind of rectangular Sony Ericsson phone. I connected the charger chord to it.
Gregor laid down, and almost immediately fell asleep. So much for staying up all night, eh?
I set up my wind up alarm clock and the alarm on my cel phone-- my patented "fail-safe" technique. Then checked eMail before going to bed.
In the morning, I noticed Gregor had a message on his phone, I gave it to him. After checking it, he told me that Al had left a nasty message. He handed it over to me and I replayed it.
It was an anger-filled voice and the message was something very close to this:
"Yeah. I don't know if you're going to answer the phone or not, but tell Carrie to GET OFF THE BOTTLE! and come home. Cuz if she doesn't, I might leave and she won't be able to get in because she doesn't got a key."
Then there was one last sentence which I can't recall for some reason but it had the word "FUCK!" in it.
"Dang! That guy has issues," I said. Thinking further, I thought that the big issue is drinking alcohol. Considering the "get off the bottle," message, and the way petite Carrie handles alcohol, I can sympathize with Al to a certain degree. He obviously is a controlling, possessive type though.
I dropped Gregor off at work on time. It was 7am and I had planned on making it to a free computer class at 8 am that morning. I felt like shit.
"Fuck that!" I said to myself. "I'm not going." I'll take it next time.
But really... FUCK ALCOHOL! and the abusive behavior related to it.
But really, really... FUCK PEOPLE! and all the stupid things we do.
End of Part 1
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