Mephitis mephitis, Philosophiæ Doctor (floyd_mephit) wrote,
Mephitis mephitis, Philosophiæ Doctor

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Looong story about why I don't drink vodka anymore.

Here's something odd..

It somehow reminded me of the time that I vomited on the castle Versailles.

Warning...this involves bodily functions, and will permanently tint me in your eyes as a drunken moron. Just know that I don't do this sort of thing anymore..

I was on a french club trip, at the end of my junior year in high school, with several younger students, and also some adults (including my mother). This was on the 3rd or 4th day of the trip, and we were visiting french castles. The day before, we visited a french supermarket (where juveniles can buy alcohol), and I decided to buy a litre of Absolut vodka. That night at the crappy french hotel, I and 3 friends were to drink it all, but the supposedly loose girl I invited decided to instead drink some dram-sized wine bottles. That left the 'big drinking jock kid' who I roomed with, myself, and the class lesbian. She actually had a few glasses, and he had maybe a couple, and I finished the rest of the bottle (the rest constituted approximately 0,76 metric shitload of unflavored absolut).

I spent the night unable to see, and I recall only COATING my smelly french bedsheet in brie/roquefort/orangina/absolut melange and attempting to wash it in the small french sink before passing out on the floor. (looking back, I wonder how I managed to drink absolut in full half-pint glasses at a time) I woke up early to visit Versailles and I couldn't see straight: the group wandered the halls (Versailles is FUCKING huge, au fait) and quickly lost me, as I was hopping from seat to seat to 20-foot-high gilt mirror to lean on.

At some point I realized I was without my group, and I found myself leaning on an open windowsill some 20 feet off the ground gasping for air, and suddenly I felt the urge to puke up about a pint more of undigested cheese-vodka all over the 300-year-old french marble windowsill, and watch in cramping squint as it sizzled the lichens and etched the marble patterns and slowly oozed off of the windowsill and fall 20 feet onto some tourists heads below.

I was beginning to think that I should get the hell out of that particular piece of blighted royal history, when I heard a *whirrrrCLICK, whirrrrCLICK*. I slowly turned around to see what the (to a hungover/drunk sick person) incredibly grating noise was, when I saw TWO JAPANESE TOURISTS STANDING NEXT TO ME AND MY PUDDLE OF BUBBLING VOMIT, POINTING TO ME AND HAVING THEIR PICTURES TAKEN BY A THIRD! I looked at them, then the camera as it clicked my picture a few times, and realized that I still had vomitus on my chin; I wiped it off and staggered off in a daze through this seemingly endless hallway covered, ground to ceiling, in horrible mirrors...

At some point later, I found myself in some archway on the ground floor, outside. I found a gift shop nearby and bought a 2-litre bottle of french mineral water. I drank about 2 sips, and promptly fell over from what I learned later was dehydration and the awful heat (it was something like 94 degrees F outside).

I was awakened by some french paramedic yelling at me in french ( I don't remember what) and I tried to answer him in french, but I apparently have trouble with my passe compose whilst I'm suffering from heat exhaustion. He got me into a french ambulance and kept telling me, "compressez! compressez!" which, of course, means "throw up, you ztinking yankee!". We rode to some Versaille-based clinic, where I layed on a table and they gave me fluids ( I saw an IV there, but don't remember them hooking me up).

After some amount of time, I recalled realizing that the group was supposed to have left almost an hour ago! so I said my french goodbye to the suprisingly ambivalent french nurse, and staggered off to the bus which was thankfully still there. Everyone asked me why I'd passed out (damned french must've told 'em) but the lesbien and jock thankfully kept quiet about my little Benjamin Wynne episode the previous night.

We rode on, and I kept vomiting the rest of the day, AND THE ENTIRE NEXT DAY AS WELL. My mother kept trying to get me to drink creme de menthe liqueor, but I got vomitously sick at the smell of it. I remember slamming my head on the damned french bus bathroom mirror trying to vomit in the sink. The rest of the trip was relatively uneventful...

To this day, I almost categorically refuse to drink vodka in any form.

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