Alcoholic Anecdotes

Alcoholic Anecdotes
26th November 2005

Nothing mixes with youth as well as alcohol.

Seriously. What’s rock and roll (or, in my case, trance and house music) without a beer or three? What’s lounging around with friends without those tequila shots? What’s the overnight bash without vodka and 7Up?

Every youngster has an alcoholic recollection or eight to recount, that’ll amuse the heck out of listeners. Well, here are mine.

My first remembered booze experience was as a kid. I must have been about ten. There was a bottle of wine lying around in the fridge. Well, to a little boy who didn’t know better, the red wine looked suspiciously like Coca-Cola. And when parents are away, kids will play. I remember drinking a huge glass of wine. Then falling asleep, and waking up wondering why I had a headache.

I was always allowed a drink with my folks. Still remember three margaritas (my favourite!) at a barbeque party on the terrace. However, my first official drink was at Three Flights Up (how I miss that place) at a classmate’s bash sometime in junior college. I drank a margarita, and suffered immense guilt later. Worked up the nerve to tell my folks the next morning. To my huge and everlasting surprise, they were cool with it. They’re really the coolest parents ever!

I went through most of my graduation days with a "two small tall" limit. That is, two small vodkas/rums/gins, topped to the brim with Sprite, lime cordial and soda, or whatever caught my fancy.

Then came Pune.

I’ve already mentioned how nothing shocks me anymore, after Pune. Some of my favourite drinking memories come from Pune.

The time when the gang was over at my place, doing serious damage to a couple of bottles of Alcazar (student budget, sorry) vodka. I awoke the next morning to see a pile of dishes in the sink, and made my grand, hungover pronouncement: "Who the hell is gonna wash all these vehicles?"

Same gang, same place. Where Fat Aunty gets drunk on – believe it, I ain’t drunk now and I wasn’t drunk then – three drops of vodka in a large glass of Coke. And Senorita gets high on the Coke without the vodka. Three sips and the giggling begins...

One of our famous class parties, possibly our farewell. Where Guzzler, eight bottles of beer down in one hour, falls all over my shoulder crying. Not too bad. Except that he’s crying over how he’s happy that we’re friends despite what everyone thought. And except for the fact that he weighs about three times what I do...

Of course, there’s nothing like vodka body shots, but a gentleman never kisses and tells.

Then there was Groper’s birthday bash in Pune, on her terrace. The Drunken Painting Poet and I got together to bartend. Sounds good? Well, we started off with our patented ‘bartender’s shots’. Then proceeded to drink approximately one drink for every one drink we poured. An hour or two later, we were staggering around the terrace, arms around each other. Bunny, Minty and Mallu take us firmly in hand, sit us down. And then she decides to play with a little kitten who is wandering around. Prompting (from me) drunken gags about "playing with your pussy", that still get laughs from everyone today.

Sorry baby, had to say that in the interest of truth.

Proceed to Bombay. In the throes of my problems with Sweetie, Doc, Drunken Painting Poet and me decide to attend a bartending workshop. So Doc and I drive to Bandra. Proceed to make (and drink) 10 cocktails, plus two at lunch, then volunteer for shots and quickly down about 7. All this between 11 AM and 5 PM. Well, we were too drunk to stand. So Doc drives my car very, very carefully till Mahalakshmi, where he has to pick up his bike. The one-hour wait there does us little good, except for heavy water intake. Then we drive home, he on the bike, me in the car. Each going slowly to keep an eye on the other. We still can’t remember that drive back.

A few weeks later, we decide to celebrate our newfound bartending skills with a tequila party at Doc’s uncle’s place. And proceed to get stinking drunk. At least, I did. Apparently I was in long, serious discussions with my best friend (down from Dubai) and Minty, before I passed out. Apparently I visited the loo at least six times that night. And I definitely awoke with carpenters at work inside my skull.

Client party, on a boat. Second Shift and I start with Bullseyes (beer with a slug of vodka), move on quickly to vodka and rum shots. I still remember staggering home with a former colleague. Nothing like drinking on a boat to get you high.

Goa trip with unit. Oh, hell yeah! We started drinking from the moment we stepped on the train, and stopped only when we reached the station for the return trip. Goa brings out the best in drinking. It’s so relaxed you hardly get drunk.

I still can’t forget that immortal session at the Drunken Painting Poet’s house during her birthday bash. When, various cocktails down, she invited me to tickle "all that was covered by her skirt, not her feet". Oooooh baby! That was probably precipitated by an extra-strong cocktail I’d concocted for her, the recipe for which is – for the good of all humankind – forgotten.

There were the classic sessions at Mondy’s with the office gang. When five of us drank down six large pitchers, and I walked home with the road shaking in front of my eyes.

And the drunken session Scary and I had with Brashmouth. When she lambasted me about my career, and changed my attitude and working life completely. Thanks, boss! Especially for dropping me home after that.

One more drunken session at Mondy’s, with Scary and Mister. When we rebelled from work, drank and drank and drank. Scary encouraged us to use "I’m too drunk" as an excuse to split from work. Mister did exactly that. To the amused exasperation of servicing.

I can never forget the day when we took Sis to Boat Club. We were all drinking, and she had turned down the vodka I’d offered her for a mocktail. Then she decides to change her mind. I pour a small vodka into her drink. And she goes, "Sluuurp! Sluuurp! Sluuuurp!" Five minutes, three sips, one empty glass. Then her head started spinning, she started getting nauseous. The Nag took her in hand, and hasn’t let me offer her a drink since then.

Of course, the reason for the change in my drinking habits was one drunken session with Hipshaker and Fox. Hipshaker threatened me – "You f****r, you can’t survive in advertising without drinking!" Promptly proceeded to pour six pegs of vodka down my throat, and sent me home absolutely pissed.

Of course, I’ve had the bad experiences. The one that comes to mind was in April, at an office bash. I was celebrating (mourning?) being single a year. And got so drunk I can’t remember what I did or said to anybody. Apparently I was sitting holding my face, afraid that my jaws would fall on the floor. Spent the whole day recovering from the hangover.

But, like I said before, it’s been a wild and good ride. Most people I know have superb stories to tell. Drunken Painting Poet and I wanted to start an amateur bartending company called Slosh. Doc named our gang’s e-group Sloshed.

Well, posts are invited. With one stipulation.

Have a few pegs before you write it.

P.S.: FITM encourages you to drink responsibly and sensibly (unless you’re a woman planning to seduce me or who I am planning to seduce immediately afterwards, which would let me take better advantage). Never drink and drive. Cheers.