Did you ever have one of those weekends when you really, actually and honestly considered never having another drink again? Here’s a story about how you go from hero to zero as the result of one poorly timed bodily function.
The girlfriend’s cousin and her husband had their annual Oktoberfest this past weekend. It was a pretty big function with a large number of family and friends, plenty of beer and great food. The girlfriend and I brought a truckload of ice and when one of the taps broke in the middle of the function, I ran to the liquor store and shelled out the $35 deposit for a replacement. I was doing my part to help out. I was enjoying myself and getting along with everybody. I was feeling very good about myself and the whole evening seemed to be going quite well – and that’s when it happened.
Maybe it was the fact that I had worked the previous two nights and was physically run down. Maybe it was the fact that I went to grab a quick glass of still water and ended up grabbing sparkling water by mistake. Most likely it was the fact that I had a bunch of beer and a load of bratwurst in my belly. But whatever it was, the fact is that I puked.
I booted, wet-burped, snarfed, spewed, upchucked, laughed at the floor, flooded the wrong torpedo tube. I spit up like a wee baby and I did it at a public family function.
It wasn’t a gut-wrenching, dramatic event. Something went down, I tried to keep it down, and it came back up. I made it to the corner of the backyard and I let a little bit go. I managed to collect myself and go out front before the episode got any uglier and as I did the whole thing passed. I felt fine – which was good because there were family members outside loading their kids into the minivan and the last thing I wanted to them to see was the cousin’s boyfriend hurling on the sidewalk out front.
So it was over. I could go back and clean it up, and that’d be that. Maybe I even got away with it – maybe nobody saw me.
That theory was crushed the second I got back to the party. There were people wiping up my vomit from the floor and I got the "Feeling alright?" treatment right away. I was totally busted.
I was so embarrassed I felt like turning right around and leaving immediately. Here I was, 27 years old and I’m at a family party vomiting like a drunken frat pledge. The last time I had a public beer-vomiting incident was at my friend’s college graduation party six goddamn years ago – and even then I felt like a complete ass. Now I’m supposed to be all grown up, a macho beer drinking man who is mature enough to hold his own liquor. Well the fact was that I wasn’t wasted by any means (at that point); something just hit the trigger and the gun was loaded. I wasn’t a drooling mess with my pants around my ankles passed out in the corner – I just got sick.
Despite my major, MAJOR social faux pas, I made the difficult decision to stay at the party. Nothing short of my own murder would keep me away from that much good beer, and I didn’t want to walk out as a puking loser. I needed a chance to make a better impression and bailing at that point would have been an admission of defeat. I lobbied my still water/spring water case to everyone and they seemed to buy it – or at least humored me enough to let me feel comfortable again, and for that I thank them for it. It was an awkward situation, but I figured if President Bush (the first one) can vomit on Japanese diplomats and get away with it, I should be okay with this one.
Well I guess the reality is that he didn’t get away with it, because 11 years later, smart-ass writers like me are still referencing that mega-gaffe.
And I’m sure I’m looking forward to a lifetime of the same ribbing. I’m gonna be the guy who puked at the Oktoberfest party. I guess writing about it in the paper isn’t going to make it any easier on me either, but it does have a somewhat therapeutic effect. Instead of hiding it and forgetting it ever happened (which is exactly what I would have done if nobody had seen me, goddamnit!!!), I aired it out in the open and shared my painful story with all of you – much like I aired out the contents of my stomach and shared it with everyone at the party.
I’m sure I’ll get a lot of invites to parties now, all addressed to "Mr. Pukie."
Please invite Chris to your party. Or at least give him suggestions on how to waste his wages in the metro area. Write to:
"Hal Wastes His Wages"
c/o The Hudson Current
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Hoboken, New Jersey 07030
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