I dont require much from the people who drink with me. I dont expect them to be the greatest conversationists. I dont expect them to be great debators or orators. I dont expect them to be sauve, cool, well traveled, well read or particularly intelligent. Mostly I just expect them to get shit faced, not be obnoxious or confrontational, and provide some company. Drinking with someone who is any of the afore mentioned is just a bonus. But what I do expect is that the people who drink with me know how to vomit correctly. As this is problematic for amatuers and even some veterans, I will explain this now.
There are four acceptable places to Ralph. From most desirable to least desirable these are:
The Toilet: Ah, the toilet. The old cliche about worshipping the porcelain goddess. Toilets are excellant for hoargging in. The flushing mechanism carts away your bile with the touch of a lever and readies the bowl for another round of suffering. The porcelain itself wont pit or corrode from the stomach acid unleashed upon it and is easily cleaned if the drunk in question has questionable aim. In commerical establishments, the restroom itself is designed with ease of cleaning in mind with concrete or tiled floors and walls plus stalls for privacy. And as any drunk can testify there are few things as pleasing when puking then the cool feeling of tile or porcelain on skin. Add to that the nearby sink with its ready supply of cold water for swishing half digested goo from your mouth and you have a winner. (Note however that ralphing in the Sink is a serious Faux Paux)
The Garbage Can: More public and thus less desirable then the Toilet, the garbage can nonetheless provides an excellant recepticle for when you have blow chunks. The can liner makes cleaning a snap and even if permanant damage is rendered upon the wastepaper basket they are cheap and easy to replace. And Besides garbage cans are for garbage and who would argue that upchuck is anything but?
Outside: Ok, spewing outside has its drawbacks especially if its at a bar. For one, purging is not exactly a flattering act and if one is throwing up in a more upscale part of town or at a popular nightclub there is a certain degree of embarrasment involved. Who wants to be next to Club Exclusive barfing your guts out while all the Hot women and their Slick lookin' boyfriends gaze upon you with unmasked disdain and revulsion? If push comes to shove though, outside has its advantages. For one, your not purging on anything of value. No ones shoes are biting the big one, theres no soiled pant legs or hose and your not spoiling carpets. Theres no reguritation on the coat rack occuring. Your outside. All that anyone has to do to clean it up is bust out the hose and wash it away. And more importantly, you prolly wont get 86'd or alienate yourself from the people you were socializing with a moment ago.
On the Floor: Retching on the floor is a buzz kill and party ender for sure. Typically the sight of someone curled over on the dance floor unloading puts an unrepairable damper on the mood. Its hard to show the ladies your dancing moves when some other dude is curled into a ball showing the ladies what he had for lunch. The floor is the last resort, the final option, the alamo. And its not all bad. Your not ruining Sofa's, your not despoiling wall and your certainly not turning the bar into a toxic no-mans land. Done well and puking on the floor can be an honorable last act of sacrifice. A commitement from the offender to the victims to minimize the chaos and mess that will emerge from deep within his stomach. The key to ralphing on the floor is to immediatly get as close to the floor as possible to minimize splattering, shout a warning if possible, point your mouth straight down and do the deed. Some have even been known to go on all fours and direct the vomit beneath themselves in an act of bravery akin to taking a bullet for someone. Knowing your limits is important. More then one foolish young amatuer has embaressed himself vainly trying to make it to the toilet. Make the journey but be prepared not to make it.
Which brings us to my Saint Paddy's day. At that particular hour the line to the local Irish hotspot stretched out the alley and around the building. We sat in the neighboring pub drinking and people watching. It was fascinating to be sure. Entire waves of Women (there was a high percentage of cutties out that night) would descend on this pub while their dates held their place in line, pound a beer and then leave. Upon their return to the line, they would hold the place while a huge wave of dudes would decend on the place to pound a beer. Buddy A and Buddy B (Names withheld to protect both the innocent and the guilty) had been drinking for some time where as I had only just begun. Buddy B is not a drinker and has only consumed twice (including last night) He got half way thru his last drink and declared he was done. Buddy A is a serious drinker but not all that great with beer. He finished his drink and declared that while he wasn't particularly shitfaced, he was physically full. The fool had eaten two and a half lemon twists prior to entering this latest pub. An argument ensued over who would finish the drink. Finally I declared that I would take care of it. After all I'd only just started and had a fair deal more drinking to do. First though I had to piss. The pub is small and theres only one unisex toilet. Just as I was walking up, a woman went inside and decided to take her jolly fucking time. Moments later Buddy A came up beside me looking ill and declared that I should let him in the toilet first. Painful realizations bubbled up from the depths of my mind and I inquired as to the condition of the remaining beverage. As I had suspected, he'd down it in his usual fashion. He can drinking without swallowing and had been peer pressured by Buddy B to down it. My brain raced. The Woman in the restroom wasn't showing any signs of hurrying. I motioned for the Bartender/owner. I'd been in there on several occasions and he recognized me. "You should probably slid that garbage can over here" I said and motioned as discretely as possible "just in case".
"If your friend has to hurl, he can do it here" he replied pointing at the glass recycle bins that helped rope off the public area from the employee area.
Things went into slow motion at this point.
"In the bin" I told buddy A and pointed. I turned my head to see if the woman was coming out of the bathroom yet. No luck.
I turned my head back just intime to see Buddy A facing the recycle bin and with his head still at a 90 degree angel, Explosively vomit all over the bartender. A six feet stream of hoaarg became airborn, clearing the recycle bin entirely and spoiling the floor, the bartenders shirt, apron, pride and the floor next to the far wall.
I was mortified. Humilated to have broughten buddy A in there. The bartender regained his cool and said that compensation for the shirt wouldn't be neccesary but I slipped him a twenty anyway.
I still dont know if I'm still welcome in the pub.
So the next time you think your weekend sucked, stop and think about mine. And please, learn to vomit correctly.
There are four acceptable places to Ralph. From most desirable to least desirable these are:
The Toilet: Ah, the toilet. The old cliche about worshipping the porcelain goddess. Toilets are excellant for hoargging in. The flushing mechanism carts away your bile with the touch of a lever and readies the bowl for another round of suffering. The porcelain itself wont pit or corrode from the stomach acid unleashed upon it and is easily cleaned if the drunk in question has questionable aim. In commerical establishments, the restroom itself is designed with ease of cleaning in mind with concrete or tiled floors and walls plus stalls for privacy. And as any drunk can testify there are few things as pleasing when puking then the cool feeling of tile or porcelain on skin. Add to that the nearby sink with its ready supply of cold water for swishing half digested goo from your mouth and you have a winner. (Note however that ralphing in the Sink is a serious Faux Paux)
The Garbage Can: More public and thus less desirable then the Toilet, the garbage can nonetheless provides an excellant recepticle for when you have blow chunks. The can liner makes cleaning a snap and even if permanant damage is rendered upon the wastepaper basket they are cheap and easy to replace. And Besides garbage cans are for garbage and who would argue that upchuck is anything but?
Outside: Ok, spewing outside has its drawbacks especially if its at a bar. For one, purging is not exactly a flattering act and if one is throwing up in a more upscale part of town or at a popular nightclub there is a certain degree of embarrasment involved. Who wants to be next to Club Exclusive barfing your guts out while all the Hot women and their Slick lookin' boyfriends gaze upon you with unmasked disdain and revulsion? If push comes to shove though, outside has its advantages. For one, your not purging on anything of value. No ones shoes are biting the big one, theres no soiled pant legs or hose and your not spoiling carpets. Theres no reguritation on the coat rack occuring. Your outside. All that anyone has to do to clean it up is bust out the hose and wash it away. And more importantly, you prolly wont get 86'd or alienate yourself from the people you were socializing with a moment ago.
On the Floor: Retching on the floor is a buzz kill and party ender for sure. Typically the sight of someone curled over on the dance floor unloading puts an unrepairable damper on the mood. Its hard to show the ladies your dancing moves when some other dude is curled into a ball showing the ladies what he had for lunch. The floor is the last resort, the final option, the alamo. And its not all bad. Your not ruining Sofa's, your not despoiling wall and your certainly not turning the bar into a toxic no-mans land. Done well and puking on the floor can be an honorable last act of sacrifice. A commitement from the offender to the victims to minimize the chaos and mess that will emerge from deep within his stomach. The key to ralphing on the floor is to immediatly get as close to the floor as possible to minimize splattering, shout a warning if possible, point your mouth straight down and do the deed. Some have even been known to go on all fours and direct the vomit beneath themselves in an act of bravery akin to taking a bullet for someone. Knowing your limits is important. More then one foolish young amatuer has embaressed himself vainly trying to make it to the toilet. Make the journey but be prepared not to make it.
Which brings us to my Saint Paddy's day. At that particular hour the line to the local Irish hotspot stretched out the alley and around the building. We sat in the neighboring pub drinking and people watching. It was fascinating to be sure. Entire waves of Women (there was a high percentage of cutties out that night) would descend on this pub while their dates held their place in line, pound a beer and then leave. Upon their return to the line, they would hold the place while a huge wave of dudes would decend on the place to pound a beer. Buddy A and Buddy B (Names withheld to protect both the innocent and the guilty) had been drinking for some time where as I had only just begun. Buddy B is not a drinker and has only consumed twice (including last night) He got half way thru his last drink and declared he was done. Buddy A is a serious drinker but not all that great with beer. He finished his drink and declared that while he wasn't particularly shitfaced, he was physically full. The fool had eaten two and a half lemon twists prior to entering this latest pub. An argument ensued over who would finish the drink. Finally I declared that I would take care of it. After all I'd only just started and had a fair deal more drinking to do. First though I had to piss. The pub is small and theres only one unisex toilet. Just as I was walking up, a woman went inside and decided to take her jolly fucking time. Moments later Buddy A came up beside me looking ill and declared that I should let him in the toilet first. Painful realizations bubbled up from the depths of my mind and I inquired as to the condition of the remaining beverage. As I had suspected, he'd down it in his usual fashion. He can drinking without swallowing and had been peer pressured by Buddy B to down it. My brain raced. The Woman in the restroom wasn't showing any signs of hurrying. I motioned for the Bartender/owner. I'd been in there on several occasions and he recognized me. "You should probably slid that garbage can over here" I said and motioned as discretely as possible "just in case".
"If your friend has to hurl, he can do it here" he replied pointing at the glass recycle bins that helped rope off the public area from the employee area.
Things went into slow motion at this point.
"In the bin" I told buddy A and pointed. I turned my head to see if the woman was coming out of the bathroom yet. No luck.
I turned my head back just intime to see Buddy A facing the recycle bin and with his head still at a 90 degree angel, Explosively vomit all over the bartender. A six feet stream of hoaarg became airborn, clearing the recycle bin entirely and spoiling the floor, the bartenders shirt, apron, pride and the floor next to the far wall.
I was mortified. Humilated to have broughten buddy A in there. The bartender regained his cool and said that compensation for the shirt wouldn't be neccesary but I slipped him a twenty anyway.
I still dont know if I'm still welcome in the pub.
So the next time you think your weekend sucked, stop and think about mine. And please, learn to vomit correctly.