Story of two friends (as told by C.)

|| “’You are drunk Sir Winston, you are disgustingly drunk. ‘Yes, Mrs. Braddock, I am drunk. But you, Mrs. Braddock are ugly, and disgustingly fat. But, tomorrow morning, I, Winston Churchill will be sober.”||

We have all had our moments of drunken insanity. Binge drinking until 2 am, chundering outside The Roof and eventually passing out on the cold linoleum floor is all too familiar a routine for some of us. Such stories no longer faze me. In fact, if someone had to tell me he threw up chunks of lamb in his sleep, I would have looked at him with blasé indifference and told him to get back to me with something better. Thursday night, however, was a series of continued moments of Whiskey Tango Foxtrot. What happened that night was so mindblowingly insane, I’m still struggling to believe that it actually happened.

(I was not present when the incidents occurred, so I am relaying all this information as told to me by C. And for anonymity purposes, we shall call the instigators Cory and Jay.)

The night started off pretty tame with a couple of rounds of drinking poker. It has been a pre-drink tradition for as long as I can remember — a cheap and fun way to get drunk, fast. So before the group had even left C’s house, a couple of the notable members were already smashed. The situation was made worse at Gandalf’s where everyone drowned themselves in free booze. Cory, in his infinite wisdom, decided that the bathroom (which was a mere 10 metres away) was too far, so he unzipped his pants, and pissed into the air-vent next to the bar. The girl who was standing beside him did not look impressed, and neither did R. who slowly eased away and pretended not to know Cory.

But this was just the icing on the cake. As everyone was on their way back to C’s house, Cory and Jay decided to head back to Gandalf’s to get Jay’s car which incidentally was parked outside C’s house. Cory and Jay walked up to a car that somewhat resembled theirs and tried to open it with Jay’s house key. After 20 minutes of trying, the bouncer eventually approached them and said something to the effect of, “Hey, you can’t open a car door with a house key man.” Jay refused to listen of course, and in his inebriated state, he somehow managed to convince the idiot bouncer that it was indeed his car, and that the bouncer should break the window so that he could get in. And the bouncer obliged…

Two seconds later, a girl came over screaming at the top of her lungs, “WTF is going on?!!?!” At which point, Jay and Cory simply walked away, and left the bouncer to deal with the girl and the big hole in her car. They walked back to C’s house and again, attempted to open the front door with Jay’s house key. Eventually, the lack of success angered Cory so much that he took Jay’s house keys and threw them (somewhere). The keys were never found. The failure of plan A effected plan B, which was to climb over the wall – a feat possible only when one is drunk (it has been tried and tested). When they finally made it into the house, instead of sleeping over, they decided to drive home. So they got S’s copy of keys to let themselves out the house. They left, leaving the house door wide open, and the key still in the keyhole. (Note: The house was situated in one of the dodgiest areas whereby if a car was parked outside, its tyres had a 50% chance of turning into bricks the following day.)

Jay, with his superb driving skills, made it all the way from Obs to Liesbeeck Gardens before he turned too sharply around a corner and mounted the curb. He then tried to put the gear into reverse, but couldn’t. He kept on shifting it into 4th gear, so his car went further forward each time. Then, all of a sudden, a policeman appeared next to him and was knocking on the window. He asked if they were drunk, to which they replied with a rather slurred “Noooo”. The policeman noted that the two were clearly too drunk to drive, so he got in the car and drove them to their flat, and left without charging anyone.

Moral of the story: Don’t drink and drive!! Or if you do, then hope for a nice policeman who will drive you home.

Story of a friend (of a friend)

Statistically speaking, there will always be one weirdo (or freakazoid, depending on the intensity of your judgement) in a group of randomly composed individuals.  This post is about someone whom I have never met, but the stories involving him are so legendary that I have to dedicate an entry to him. (For the sake of anonymity, we shall call this guy “Duke”.)

Duke was, relatively speaking, a normal student studying computer science at UCT.  Everything was hunky dory until the end of his third year of studies where he suddenly garnered the urge to join the British Army.  So, he dropped out of university in order to pursue his new dream, while under the delusion that “people don’t die in armies anymore”.  His parents (for some unfathomable reason) supported this crazy notion.  Instead of going ballistic at the thought of seeing their son drop out in his final year of university, they simply went, “That’s nice”.  However, instead of flying to the UK, Duke packed up all of his belongings and went home.  Reason: he didn’t want to join the army in winter; he’d rather go in summer. So, he moped around the house for about 6 months and played video games all day long.

Six months came and went, and his “Army” idea went with them.  (I guess the novelty just wore off.) Duke was suddenly faced with a new spectrum of decisions.  He was a 20-something year old with no qualification, no driver’s licence, and minimum work experience.  Luckily, with some persuasion from his step-father, Duke finally decided not to throw his future away, and to apply for an engineering degree at the University of Pretoria.  (Why Step-dad steered Duke to a new degree was a mystery, but theories suggest that he wanted Duke to keep an eye on the Sister who was on the verge of dropping out of university herself.)

As (bad) luck would have it, UP refused Duke’s application on the basis that his marks were not good enough.  To combat his disappointment, Duke decided to take a short holiday to Mozambique where he drank so much that the next day, when he was on a diving expedition, he threw up in his regulator while underwater. As pieces of regurgitated food came out, schools of fish started gathering around him and were nibbling on the puke. (Disgusting imagery, I know!) Duke survived the ordeal, but needless to say, his mom was not impressed.

Moral of the story? STAY IN SCHOOL!

A drunken escapade

It never ceases to amaze me how the over-consumption of alcohol can cognitively impair even the most intellectual of human beings. My dear friend, Ross, who is currently a second year Actuarial Science student, is testament to why total inebriation should be avoided at all costs. In a span of a couple of hours (while under the influence), he successfully managed to blow R500, half of which was spent on drinks for people he did not know, and would probably never see again. And that was just the beginning of a very drunken (and dangerous) escapade.

Sometime during the night, he got separated from Chris, his ever faithful party-buddy. So, he fished around for his phone, only to discover the screen of death (aka flat battery). The ever responsible Chris (who was also completely smashed) never noticed Ross’s disappearance. Nevertheless, he had enough common sense left over to bum a ride home with other drunkards. Ross, on the other hand, wasn’t so lucky. He had, during the course of the night, spent all his money on alcohol. With no resources to Call-A-Cab, he mustered up the courage to walk from Claremont (by himself at 1:30am) to a friend’s flat located roughly 20 min. away. After pressing on several intercom buttons and begging random folks to let him into the complex, he eventually managed to hit the right one. But, instead of staying like any rational thinking human being would do, Ross was assaulted by a wave of guilt. He then decided to leave the comfort of the flat and continued walking! With a minimal sense of direction, his feet carried him from Rondebosch, through the windy streets of Mowbray, to Main Road in Observatory. (For the non-Capetonians, Mowbray and Obs are not exactly the safest suburbs to be lost in.)

An hour and a half later (outside McDonald’s), Ross was approached by a hobo, and struck up a conversation that went something along the lines of:
Hobo: “I’m hungry.”
Ross: “Umm…”
Hobo: “Please give me some food.”
Ross: “Err…”
Hobo: “It’s my birthday.”
Ross (digs into his pocket and produces a R20 note): “Ok, I’ll buy you a burger.”

What was wrong with that situation:
Firstly, the conversation with the hobo (or any hobo for that matter) should never have happened, never mind the McDonald’s burger. Secondly, the R20 should have been spent on a taxi, even if it only took him half way home.

Eventually, at 3am, Ross stumbled into his own room – alive, but not so well.