Like many teenagers, I spent those years puking near constantly from abuse of alcohol. You don't know any better at that stage of the game and you just have to age a few years to get past it. Grizzled old boozehound that I am now, even my worst hangovers don't involve puking. That being said, I am good for about once a year to have a solid puke from excess boozing. Perhaps not ironically, twice in the past 3 years that has occurred on my last night in Orlando. This year was an exception as I did survive puke free, but it was the most mind bending horrible hangover I've had in many months (or a year) and I came very close to letting one rip for the first third of my day.
I arrived and left my place on a Saturday. Stupidly, I booked an excessively early flight (leaves at 7:30am) which is rough because the airport is a good 15 miles away. Worst yet, I have no rental car. A cab is probably $40 or more to get there. However, the bus is a paltry $2, but the first bus of the day is only going to get you there around 6:15am. That should be enough time but I am an exacting responsible flier at all times and I don't like cutting it that close. Still, the $38 difference was enough to sway me so I decided to roll the dice.
Friday night brought a husband/wife karaoke DJ combo who I have encountered more than once over the years. It is a bit awkward to put in your ticket as your 'opening acts' are usually along the lines of a 3 and 4 year old siblings singing 'Jingle Bells'. Though they don't really sing, they kind of just stand there and become mesmerized by the screen.
But I was pretty well lubricated at that point so I didn't care. I had two beers left and about a 1/4th of a bottle of Old Grand Dad. That worked out to be three proper portions of bourbon on the rocks. So after 5 drinks I headed down there and quickly got in the queue for 'Gentle On My Mind' by Glen Campbell. I ordered another beer (Sierra Nevada Pale Ale in a can) and sat down to wait for my turn.
My turn came and went, I sang my song and knew immediately one wouldn't be enough. It never is. I ended up singing only one more song ('After The Lovin' by Engelbert Humperdinck) and I had two additional beers. So that is 8 drinks at this point but I'm feeling good. I checked what time the kitchen closed (10pm) and I knew I had time. Still, I figured I better get something in me so I can keep up the pace. I devoured an order of onion rings really quickly and at that moment I knew: 'You're drunk'. I kind of stepped outside myself and saw how fast I was shoveling it in and I was shocked. It wasn't so much that I was hungry, I was just in drunken slob mode.
Well as it usually works out I made some friends and that's when the booze hits you. For the previous portion of the week I drank every night quietly and alone and watched TV. When you aren't socializing and have no stimulus you just go to bed and fade away. I had a couple bottles of Coors someone gave me and went for a jump in the nearby pool. I felt great but looking back the memories come at me like they are on the other side of a fun house mirror.
Well I got back upstairs a little after 11pm (I know it was that time because they 'threw me out' as they had to close the pool). So I was probably asleep by 11:30pm. That isn't so bad until you remember that I have my alarm set for 4:35am because I have to walk a solid mile carrying all my stuff to the nearest bus stop.
I woke up a few hours later and was afraid to check the time. I knew it would be just shortly before I had to get up and would lend no purpose to continuing to lay there. I was right - it was 4:15am. I had a bit of an unruly mess on my hands (despite the fact that I had packed 90% while I was still relatively sober the night before) so I needed the additional time. I felt ok but was very thirsty...to that end I guzzled probably a quart of freezing cold ice water while hovering over the sink (the last hurrah of a week enjoying having an ice maker at my disposal).
I saved myself a couple hard boiled eggs and I ate those. I cleaned up and got the hell out of there. I had to stop at the front desk to settle up the bill (all the drinks I had signed to the room over the course of the week. It was only about $65). This still left me enough time to stop into the CVS at the bus stop to get something else to drink as the ice water from 20 minutes previous was now distant on the event horizon.
I struggled to CVS and went inside, it was still pitch black out. Two of the workers (two of the three currently on shift I'm going to guess) were outside smoking. I went in and made my way to the coolers to get a Gatorade. I have been in this store countless times over the years so I made a bee line, plus I wasn't going to fool around with somehow missing my bus (though I had at least 10 minutes to spare at this point).
The only other worker was in there stocking shelves and said good morning and I believe I returned the favor. Then he added 'Can I help you find anything?' or something along those lines. Now I type this today sober as a judge and not short on sleep but I still would consider this a very stupid question. So stupid in fact, that I wonder if it is actually a manifestation of passive aggressiveness. It is a CVS - not a warehouse. It also seems obvious to me that I was walking with purpose, with a clear destination in mind. Looking back however, I wonder if I had burning red eyes and disheveled hair and a general look of intoxication dripping off me. So perhaps this was the treatment they give bums and the like, to hustle them out of the place. I just said 'no' and moved on. I went to the cooler and spotted the Gatorade then at the last second decided to grab a coconut water instead. They were all out of the regular stuff so I had to get one which had been cut with pineapple juice. Good enough.
I walked to the register and pulled out a $10 bill. The clerk stopped his shelf stocking and went around. He had more questions for me. Next was, "Did you find everything alright?". Considering I had my item in my hand, and was at the register within about 20 seconds of entering, and had cash in my paw the answer seems obvious. More evidence would be that I never did take him up on his offer of helping me to find anything. This time I couldn't handle the absurdity and I made a quiet disappointed laugh and said 'yes'. I just wanted to leave. Specifically I wanted to drink my fucking coconut water! I felt like hell and was so tired and my throat was burning.
He picked up on my silent anger and asked 'are you alright?'. Now I could take it no longer. Still, I showed some kind of self control...I must admit I don't remember what I said exactly. Not due to the hangover, due to the rage blackout that was setting in. Is he truly concerned with my well being? Should I tell him I slept four fitful hours and felt like dying? What did it matter anyway, I was about to complete my shopping expedition in less than a minute and pay in cold, hard cash. And then he really went off the deep end. His retort to the beginnings of my rant's crescendo was 'hey...don't get smart now'.
I never understood what the origins of that expression were. I understand the meaning and the contexts in which it is used but it seems odd to use 'smart' as a synonym for 'insolent' or something like that. But funnier still was the fact that I had not heard it in ages. But the topper had to be the fact that I estimate I was nearly twice his age and close to twice his size. If I had a look of total chaos on my face when I entered, previous to this question it was the face of war incarnate. Destroyer of worlds. Guzzler of electrolyte laden liquids.
Now I just went into a fugue state. I remember telling him that he ought not speak to me like a child. I know I didn't curse or call him names, because that will bring the cops with a coward like this. Things got weirder still...he just walked away. He had my money in his hand (I could almost taste my beverage!) when I lost my composure and he just set it down on the counter and walked away without a word. I understood that he wasn't having my recourse on manners but I must admit I was truly shocked with this reaction. I think I actually stopped my monologue and said 'where are you going?'. Without missing a beat or slowing his stroll he said 'I'm going to have to ask you to leave'.
I followed him outside as I knew he was running to his (still on a smoke break) boss. My guess is that he was more nervous about covering his ass for being a little shit than for any fear of a confrontation. Then again, it is difficult now (or then) to gauge my volume level or some of the things I said or the way I carried myself. When I exited the store, he seemed to be recounting the tale in whispered tones to his superior (as he must have known I was close behind) which I curtly cut into like a bully at the school dance. I got just about one full step too close to both of them and told them that I didn't mind being kicked out of an establishment (not that this is something that occurs often, or ever) but I can't tolerate people speaking to me like a child. The boss man almost started his response before I was done: 'OK, thank you sir....' as I walked away. He didn't want none.
So I walked the 50' back to the bus stop and turned to see them silently continuing their pow wow and I thought about how I might just pass out from thirst as the bus ride is nearly an hour. But my thirst would turn out to be secondary to the jolting, careening bus ride I had in store. In Chicago, the busses can never build up enough speed to have to really slam on the brakes because traffic is always there and the traffic lights are too close together. In southwest Orlando however, the bus (this was route #111) actually rides on the expressway and there are many 40/50 mph roads with a mile or more between stop lights. That in itself lends the opportunity for a ride of the nature I have described but it is not guaranteed. But that is where my wonderful driver comes in.
He arrived only a minute or two late and there was only one other rider. He asked if I wanted a transfer - how kind - and I politely declined, paid my fair and took my seat. I soon came to wonder if it was a regret to have eaten those two eggs earlier. My thinking was that I would be getting up at 4:30am and not get to Chicago until after 9; and worse yet be saddled with a rush through security that left no time for the procurement of foodstuffs. And I don't know if having a small amount of food in my likely bleeding, dying gut made the jolting of this fucking bus more nauseating, or had it been totally barren would it be worse. I know that before long I felt the inklings of 'car sickness'. As a frail kid, I used to get car sick all the time. It wasn't from a violent upending ride such as this, it was just from the motion of the vehicle. Today it was both, plus the glasses of whiskey that I slugged down nonchalantly the night before.
I was really starting to come up with contingency plans. I know the route well enough to establish how much further I have to go and I decided there was no way I would or could make it without vomiting. But I cannot get off the bus or I'll miss my flight. I remember many years past when I was riding a train from Penn Station Newark to Manhattan after having a few drinks. I had to piss really bad and could not find the bathroom and I got frantic as I thought I might actually piss my pants (this is by far the most urgent urination I have ever experienced to this day). I did eventually make it to New York before I sprinted through the terminal to the bathroom to relieve myself. But before I did a number of wild and irrational plans filled my mind: maybe I can piss in the corner of a car and no one will know? And on this increasingly difficult morning I considering if it would be possible to actually wretch and heave in the corner of this bus - with only one other passenger no less - and not be caught. As appealing (or appalling) as it sounded, I knew I would be caught instantly and surely tossed from the vehicle at the next stop.
As I began to retreat to my secret mental 'happy place' the bus hauled and the driver rose from his throne. We were in front of a McDonalds and he said 'it will only be a few minutes - personal time'. I was certain he was going to get some Big Macs or some other travesty inside but I think he just had to hit the head. Looking back, this was my chance to try and yak on the side of Sand Lake Road, there in the dark but I was too afraid he would be back before I could complete my dastardly business. With the current Ebola madness, I worried still about a wildly paranoid civil servant who summons authorities in haz mat suits to take me somewhere to convalesce. Which actually I wouldn't mind, given all I figured I needed at this point was the opportunity to puke and/or eat something and then sleep. But surely they would have other plans for me.
The bus continued on its death march towards the airport. The waves would come and go, it was very uncomfortable but I started to feel like I could probably hold it together. We stopped for a short spell again at the large Florida Mall stop and I was aching for the bus to just continue on its route and get me where I needed to go. I was well within schedule but I wanted at least to get the hell off this contraption to suffer elsewhere.
We continued on and I was feeling better until we got within the airport grounds. I don't know if maybe my brain sensed we were close and decided to cue the final movement of the recital in anticipation of my final exit, stage left. Now it was worse then ever, my mouth was watering and I had all the earmarks of PUKE ON DECK. All I could do was close my eyes and try to monitor my breathing and tell myself it wasn't that big of an airport, and I'd be off the bus shortly. I started to think about finding a quiet dark corner (the sun was just barely coming out now, finally) to relieve myself until we arrived and I saw the area so well lit with flood lights that would be any baseball stadium jealous. I grabbed my things and got moving.
I almost instantly felt better, either from being off the bus or maybe from having a new mission to concentrate on (navigating the airport). The bus had actually arrived a little early so I felt confident I made the right choice by not taking a cab. I got about half way through and got flagged to have my hands tested for gunpowder. After satisfying the TSA, they urged me to enter the 'fast track' line where you need not remove your shoes/belt/laptop etc. I got through so fast I saw I had about 20 minutes until my flight began to board.
I got close to my gate and then opted to have a bite to eat. I was 99% sure at this point I had moved from 'puking hangover' to just 'half dead hangover'. Burger King (yikes) was the best option and I quickly devoured the trash they sold me and guzzled the childishly small carton of OJ. I got back in line and bought a bottle of Gatorade and headed to my gate.
I was seated with a group of Japanese people who apparently had purchased any article of clothing they could with Mickey Mouse logos on it during their holiday (apparently) at Disney World. They were pretty quiet and I tried to relax. I not only had some asprin but also some Valium stored in my bag which was now in the overhead compartment. I told myself as soon as we got in the air I'd grab a handful to take care of the migrane which was not taking a hold of my cerebellum.
I never did as I fell into a difficult period of half sleep. Unable to get comfortable fully I did drift off for moments then awaken, only to try another position that might help me relax. I survived, somehow and ate a giant burrito during breakfast a short time after I touched down. I took a nap shortly after in which I had to have been comatose or maybe even flatlined. I woke up a sweaty mess, in a giant papoose of my blankets, so happy to be at home and in my own bed to recover. I got up and was so groggy it was like I had been anesthetized. Needless to say, I decided to take it easy that night and not drink. I ordered some Chinese and drank some V8 and watched the boob tube.
Tonight is day #3 without alcohol...I actually considered drinking on night #1 and I could drink tonite too but its less appealing. Not because of some repulsion to alcohol after this years Puke Night extravaganza, but just that its time to take a break after an endless stream of weeks/months of no nights off, topped off with a 7 day fit of madness and decadence. Time to recover.
Puke Night will be back, like your shadow following you, lengthening and bending in the dim light. You turn and it's gone, but only out of sight. You can't evade your shadow as it is as much a part of you as any of our other doings. It follows you and sometimes it chases you. It sways in the summer heat and it stands upright in the corner in the dark of night, there in your bedroom. "See you soon, shadow". Maybe next year Puke Night will live up to it's title. But either way, it always continues its legend. Maybe next year I'll shake that shadow and sleep in peace.
Probably not.
