A drinking story
On a message board, someone asked to hear drinking stories. This is my best one:
My brother was working as a banking consultant and was on a months-long gig in Mexico City. He got free flights to/from the US every few weeks as part of his perks, and since I’d never been to Mexico, he flew me down, and we went out with some of the Mexican banking bigwigs he knew, all of whom were about our age.
We were touring the high-end tequila bars, when one of the Mexican bankers turns to me and says “wow, you really can drink for an American.”
Famous last words: “Oh, I was in a fraternity in college and lived in a fraternity house for four years. I can probably keep up with you.”
I said this. To a Mexican. About tequila.
Apparently, no one could tell I was drunk the rest of the night (I really can drink — it also helps not having any inhibitions to lose) and while I can’t remember any of it, apparently I charmed the hell out of a number of English-speaking Mexican beauties.
Finally, 17 shots and several hours later, we head back to the hotel. I get out of the cab and fall straight forward, onto my face. My brother and a bellman get me up to my brother’s room.
I proceed to stand in the middle of the room, looking at the wood-paneled walls. I open my mouth, and vomit comes out horizontally, painting all four walls as well as the four-poster king-sized elevated bed. My brother gets me into the bathroom, where I repeat the process.
My brother, who has a meeting in the morning, stays up all night cleaning the room with expensive towels.
I wake up at 4 p.m., feeling like someone has taken a hacksaw and cut through my forehead, halfway into my skull.
My brother still speaks to me, which speaks more of brotherly love than anything else he’s ever done.
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Awesome.
I’ve took part in a similar message board thread a couple years ago (Best Ghost Story or Drinking Story), and I saved the post I wrote for that thread because it’s one of my favorite things I’ve ever written.
Comment by Jeff Hamilton — January 19, 2006 @ 10:39