PISSED AS IN DRUNK

With the girls seated at the table, Richard skipped over to the bar and ordered a round of lagers for us. I made an appeal for alcohol nullification not only because I will become unspeakably plastered and require assistance with walking, but due to the strain it puts on my bone marrow. To make a long health history short – alcohol is bad for me and I shouldn’t be consuming any of it. There.

Ching and Richard enjoyed moments of having to tap dance on top of my head and initiated their tirade to ban prohibition. Thanks to peer pressure, I gave in, but not without a list of absurd demands –

• One, Richard was to assist me in finishing up some of my lager (and it tasted mighty good) so I could mentally prep for my very first tequila shot (Ching’s favorite). I wasn’t sure how my body would respond to Tequila and was prepared to embrace the porcelain bowl for the night.
• Two, I wanted a smoke – why I requested this baffles me to this day. Thanks to these lunatics harping over my weightlessness with drinking, I guess I wanted to find something to pick on them back. Can I tell you how many times the Brits corrected me by calling them fags?
• Three, these uproarious dolts needed to shut their faces before I was gonna to rearrange them myself. They were having WAY too much fun at my expense – I was already buzzed after consuming only half of a pint.

Richard certainly didn’t mind the extra lager in his glass and kept rubbing his hands together with each swig. Weirdo. Although he was willing to buy fags, I soon realized in my drunken stupor that he didn’t know to how to purchase them. I specifically requested menthol lights and his face contorted indescribably.

I got up from my seat and dragged my lead feet over to the back of the pub looking for the vending machine (Richard informed me that they’re USUALLY in the back of the pubs). Some chap spotted me squinting in the dark for something and kindly pointed that the TOILETS were located in the front of the pub.

Okay, okay, I’m not THAT pissed yet. If I can still count my change in British pounds, then I’m still kosher.

I kindly thanked him and told him that I was looking for cigarettes. He did a double take and informed me how they’re called fags in England and how I could find them at Tesco’s Express. Yeesh, MUST everyone correct me?

So I lurched my way across the street, carefully looking both sides of the road since I was still confused as to which way the cars would be coming. It’d be utterly pathetic should I die from crossing the street while pissed. At Tesco’s Express, I asked the cashier for cigarettes with a combination of menthol lights. The Indian bloke cast me a strange glare while searching for the proper brand. Damn Americans.

Then I noticed a row of Silk Cuts and wanted to purchase a pack of them to salute good ol’ Bridget Jones. But it didn’t come in menthol, so I went with a half pack of Marlboro’s for £2.95. Owch. Unfortunately, there were too many executive decisions to be made in my sorry ass state.

Plus, they don’t give free matches away…I had to purchase my own. Since the cheapo bic lighters cost ₤1.04 (and the exchange rate being 1.92 and I could get a ton of them in the US at those 99¢ shops), I opted for a small box of matchsticks. Man, I felt ready to barbecue!

Miraculously, I made my way back to the pub without any head injuries and shoved the cigarettes up Richard’s beak. To their surprise, menthol fags tasted “quite nice” and with each puff, both semi-pissed geezers continued making assessments as though they were a panel of judges on Iron Chef. Gawd, I wanted to barf on them.

Observing Richard with a cigarette nearly made me pee in my pants. He held the butt on the web space of his hand as opposed to the upper joint between his fingers and nearly burned himself when it reached the end. He choked a few times trying to ‘inhale’ and blew smoke right in our faces. With his face beet red, he happily bopped away in his seat and I don’t believe I saw Richard as giddy as he was that night!

Ching also had a ball - she nearly fell off of her seat a few times since her chair was placed right above the step. An abrupt movement could send her reeling backwards and a potential trip to the ER! We were simply pitiful. Although I can’t remember what we deliberated that night, we were roaring till our nasal passages were cleaned out,

Nonetheless, here is a mess of excerpts coming outta everybody’s butthole:

What the SHIT is this? (C), F^&$%@!#!!! (L), I can get home like this, I went home pissed before (R), No, really, you can stay tonight, on the floor, of course (C), Man, you’re gonna reek. Better get some deodorant at Boots and douse that shit on your head (L), I can get the coach back to Birmingham at midnight (R), No, you’re not, you’re too damn drunk to even read the Tube map properly, you men are fricking color blind! (C), Just wear your clothes and underwear inside-out and you’ll feel as good as new (L), Roundabouts, anyone? (R), Yeah, yeah, I can smoke a fag (R), Aftershocks? Oh! You mean aftershots! (C) YOU ARE STAYING TONIGHT AND THAT’S FINAL! (C) The coach runs all night…(R) He’s going to take a coach to Scotland and end up in Edinburgh (C) He’s looking that way and pointing the opposite direction again (L)

My sides were hurting because I was laughing so hard. I noticed some dudes standing outside were amused by my uproarious behavior and waved at them from my seat. Boy, I sure caught Richard’s giddy bug. Somehow both Ching and I made it up and down the stairs from the Ladies Room free of injuries. While waiting for Ching, I recall propping myself against the wall and slowly sinking downwards in a giggling fit. I wondered why the ceiling appeared higher.

I bought everyone a round of pints and met up some black dude by the bar. He kindly flagged the bartender to take my order and chatted up with me. Trying to muster any composure I had left, I made a huge effort to keep a decent conversation without chortling. He assumed that I was some American working for some major corporation in Central London and asked me what did for a living. It took me a good while to come up with an answer, especially since I hadn’t been working for over a year. I came up with Treasury Systems Analyst (which was my former title 5 years ago) and stumped him.

The bar closed (earlier during weekdays) after about 5-6 rounds of drinks. It was a somber moment as the lights were turned on and quietness descended the pub as everyone feverishly tried to inhale their drinks. Then the incessant bar rambling started up again. On our way out, I met up with the black dude who politely wished me well and kissed my hand. Ugh. Both Ching and Richard were guffawing over the stupid display of ‘affection’ while I promptly wiped my wet hand on my coat.

We bummed our way back to the hotel with Richard in tow. Unrelenting, he carried on with his rant about taking the coach home while Ching had to set him straight. I, on the other hand, was so far gone that I couldn’t tell if I was walking on the sidewalk or the street. All I remember was Ching grabbing my arms and redirecting me around the corners. Swiping our hotel key to get into the main door proved to be a daunting task as no one was sober enough to pull the stunt properly.

Back in our room, Ching reverted back to her role of being the nurturing, caring big sister, while Richard and I behaved like drunken bozos people generally abandon on the streets. She rolled me into bed, took my shoes off and tucked me in. Then she went off to accommodate Richard by setting up some chairs and explained what her life’s role has been for the past 34.8 years. Oh god. We all tried to sleep but explosive fits of laughter overpowered the room and the banter lasted for a few more hours.

At some point, I found Richard sprawled all over the floor because of something Ching had said. It was along the lines of bad sex - she was in utter disbelief when we both concurred how practice makes perfect…unless the person KNEW what he/she/it was doing. Ooooh boy...

Later, I don’t know when, how, or even why - I had gotten up, changed my clothing (my jeans were giving me a wedgie) and decided to make hot caffeinated drinks in our room.

Although I appeared sober, I was so NOT. I remember verbally chewing at Ching’s ass about her philosophical topic about men suffering from societal stigmas and why she’s better off being single (why she even raised the topic is beyond me). She was wondering WTF crawled up my asshole and died, while keeping a very straight face. I think I did it to diffuse any sexual tendencies anyone might have in the room especially because we were so plastered and even whining about our significant others. Even though Richard was a perfect gentleman, hell, let’s just not go there, shall we?

I headed off to bed and passed out…leaving Ching to play Richard’s therapist. They were having some deep conversation about life, love, and maybe fish & chips?