A while back (quite a while by now), Suldog posted some photos, including one of his teenaged self indulging in a bit of public drunkenness, under the watchful eyes of his parents. Which reminded me all too well of my own experience of First Drunkenness (this post originated as a comment I left on that post of Suldog’s; but it’s a good story, so you’d be very kind to indulge my telling it again here). . .
And I suppose I'll find out which of my kids, or VMJ's (AKA GF2, altho at the time of this story, she was still VMS), ever come around here, looking for stories from my dissolute youth. . .
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I was 18, and a newly-legal consumer of alcoholic beverages, when VMS's parents took us out to dinner in Greektown (Chicago) - the waiters in skirts, the flaming cheese, "OPAA!", the whole bit. (Does it fill you with a sense of foreboding that setting the scene for my First Drunkenness involves my girlfriend's parents? Read on. . .)
They ordered a bottle of a Greek 'blush' wine called Roditys. And me being newly-legal at the time, I had a glass. And hey, it was pretty good! (Nothing at all like the Boone’s Farm that I’d snitched from my dad once upon a time.) So I had another. They ordered a second bottle, and so I had yet another glass. 'Cuz hey, it was pretty good!
After a while, I noticed that the room wasn't quite sitting still the way it was supposed to, anymore, and when one of the waiters lit the flaming cheese for another customer across the room, my "OPAA!" was louder than anyone else's at our table. So I foggily deduced that I was a sheet or two further to the wind than was best for me to be, being out to dinner with my girlfriend and her parents, and all.
So, figuring that the next thing that came out of my mouth would probably be stupid (which, looking back on it, is pretty darned self-aware for a first-time-drunk 18-year-old), I just shut up (sorta like the guy who leaves the bar at 3AM and figures he’ll escape the attention of the police by driving 12 mph all the way home) (not that I've ever done that, or anything). So I sat there, looking shitfaced, swaying gently in the breeze, saying nothing. I vaguely recall her mother leaning over to her father, saying (in her more-than-slight New Jersey accent), "I tell ya, Manny, he's drunk; we gotta get him outta here."
(*sigh*)
Maybe that has something to do with why they never became my in-laws. . .
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Man, I love that story! And thanks for the link-love!
ReplyDeleteOh man... I think I need a drunk story. 34 years and still not been drunk. I feel a bar-star weekend coming on...
ReplyDeleteI kid. I know my limits and I don't imagine that being self-aware whilst being wasted is one of them. That fear alone keeps me sober!! :D
I didn't come up with my own first drunk story until I was in college and nearly of legal age. I'd like to say I learned my lesson after my formal introduction to everclear, but I Had to go back and try it a few more times. My, were those some hardcore drunken times.
ReplyDeleteIt's been years since I've even had alcohol, and the last time I did, it didn't take a great deal of it to make me tipsy. I can't say that I miss it at all.
Suldog - Well, you know, the link-love is the least I could do. And thanks for prodding my memory. . . ;)
ReplyDeleteFlutter - Oh, please - don't feel like you need to go out and get plowed, just to share my space, or whatever. ;) You really haven't missed all that much. . .
faDKoG - See, I was in that window during which the legal drinking age in my state (and all the ones within easy driving distance) was 18. And I think our experiences convinced the Powers-That-Be that, all things considered, 21 was really a MUCH better idea. . .
Honestly, I can probably count the times I've been drunk in my life, on the fingers of two hands (I'd say one hand, but I don't think it's quite that few). While I've always enjoyed a convivial beverage, I never relished the experience of drunkenness quite as much as some of my dorm-mates did. . .
"I tell ya, Manny, he's drunk; we gotta get him outta here."
ReplyDeleteI can almost hear her saying it. Priceless.
Oh, this was a great drunk story!
ReplyDeleteI think I might have a few I can post about in the near future. Nothing like a drunk 14-year-old at a wedding getting flirted on by a 40-year-old. And my parents were the ones who got me DRUNK!
John - Priceless, indeed. Your grandparents have always been among my very favorite people. . .
ReplyDeleteMichelle - YIKES! That's wrong on so many levels. . . Glad you turned out OK. . . ;)
I've met a few parents-of-dates while drinking over the years. I'm trying to block it though.
ReplyDeleteI'm not sure which would be more awkward - meeting your date's parents while out drinking ("Oh. . . uh, hi!"), or getting drunk on their nickel, out to dinner with them at a restaurant. . .
ReplyDeletewell, it seems fairly benign. my first drunk story took place at the tender age of 12. worse than any hangover was waking up with my face full of brush burns because i went swimming and every time i dove off the diving board i found the bottom of the pool with my face. yes, i repeated that maneuver multiple times. it was not a pretty sight at all.
ReplyDeleteHi, Lime! I, uh, don't suppose you've kept any photos of that?
ReplyDeleteBut yikes - a drunken 12-year-old and a swimming pool just seems like a recipe for disaster. . .
thankfully no photos exist. and yes, i was fortunate things weren't worse.
ReplyDeleteActually, drinking in their home and then having them walk in on you when you are laying on their couch with their son is probably more embarrassing. Not that I know or anything.
ReplyDeleteLime - Well I, for one, am glad they weren't. . . ;)
ReplyDeleteCocotte - Funny - I've been on the 'parental' side of a similar scenario, only neither of the kids was mine. Long story, which I've mostly managed to blank out. . .