Have to admit, I'm stealing an idea here. I was reading the "5 Reasons I Should Quit Drinking" post on this blog - I always like reading other people's drinking stories. Seven years in Glasgow gives you lots of experience drinking, and I'm pretty sure I could keep this blog going for years on drinking stories alone if I was so inclined (ok, I'm not saying I'm proud, but there's a cultural thing going on there that could be - and maybe will be - a post in itself). Inspired (??) by the drinking stories I've read today, I thought I'd share my own, most humiliating story. Everyone has one that plays in the back of their head when they're deciding whether or not to have one more drink - this story is the one that haunts me. I hope you're not eating.
First, I should say I'm not going to mention any names of anyone else around at the time. OK, so, I was in London for work. I was working for a record label at at the time, and there was to be a big show for one our artists that night. The show in itself was a really big achievement, so it was an exciting day all around. Before the show, I had to spend the day with one of the PR guys taking another artist around to various radio stations. Let's just say that things got a little.... stressful. Adding to the perfect alcohol consumption storm of excitement and stress was the fact that a trip to London always means meeting up face to face with people you spend a lot of time on email and the phone with, and everyone wants to have a drink and a catch-up.
As the night went on....there was lots of catching up and lots of drinking. Honestly, I can't remember exactly when things started going wrong. I remember cans of Red Stripe and pints of Guinness. I remember sitting with a friend of mine during the show and her commenting that she wasn't going to remember any of it the next day. The major warning sign here was that, even with the knowledge that I had consumed a lot of alcohol, I BELIEVED I WASN'T DRUNK AT ALL. A red flag if there ever was one. The next thing I have a memory of is being backstage with a pint glass of whiskey in my hand. I don't remember drinking it - I'm pretty sure I didn't, but it surely wouldn't have mattered much at that point. Standing up to leave backstage and head to the van was the first time I remember realizing I was in fact highly intoxicated.
We piled in the van - some (American) artists from the label and various Scottish musicians. I know I performed a solo acapella version of Dire Straits So Far Away From Me, which is a bit confusing - it's not one of my go-to songs, as it were. Then, I don't know what I did to alert him, but I remember my boss, who was sitting next to me in the front saying, "Roll down the window! roll down the window" as he leaned across me, rolled down the window and pushed my head out. I threw up in my hands. I clearly remember thinking to myself, "oh good, I've managed to throw up in my hands. Maybe no one will notice!" Then, I made the decision that the best way to get rid of the evidence would be to casually run my hands though my hair.
Bad choice. I remember my boss saying, "Oh for fuck's sake! pull over the van!" He bundled me out and told them we'd walk the rest of the way to the hotel. I recall then throwing up again over a railing into Hyde Park as he laughed and laughed and laughed. I believe I cried and exclaimed, "This is the worst thing I've ever done!" (Stepping out into the cold night had brought me back to reality.)
The joke was really on me when I had to get up four hours later to catch a plane back to Glasgow. The flight was at Luton, which involved a major journey across London. I had to take refuge in a stall in a bathroom at King's Cross for awhile. I made it to Luton and my flight was delayed. Trust me, it was punishment enough.
There's no real moral to the story - I mean, don't get drunk, throw up in your hands in front of a bunch of people and then wipe it through you hair - you already knew that, right?
