Violent Acres

The first time the Tequila Monster got me was one my 21st birthday. My friend Mike thought it would be a good idea to take me to a country/western bar to celebrate. Now, I hate country/western music with the fire of a thousand suns so I have no idea why he thought I would enjoy this. Maybe he was trying to torture me.

I had never been surrounded by so many slack-jawed yokels in my life. They had a mechanical bull and pool tables surrounded by skinny guys in wife beaters. Everyone smelled like jim beam, sweat, and despair. I looked around, bleary eyed, like penguin that had just been dropped in the tropics. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. People were line dancing, for Christ sakes. I didn’t realize that real people did things like that.

Obviously, I needed some help coping, so I went to the bar and asked for my good friend, Mr. Tequila. In 45 minutes, Mr. Tequila had comforted me to the tune of 12 shots. Suddenly, the line dancing didn’t seem so bad. In fact, not much seemed bad at all (if you catch my drift) so I decided to get a little lovey dovey with Mr. Tequila’s mortal enemy: Mr. Firewater.

Bad idea.

Two shots of sickly cinnamon sweet firewater on top of a whole belly of tequila did terrible things to my stomach.I guess that’s what you get when you’re a cheating whore. Desperately, I communicated a message of great importance to Mike:

V: “Mike….I hafta go to da baffroom….”

Mike: “Oh….do you need me to take you?”

V: “Yesh.”

Somehow Mike managed to steer me towards the ladies room. I lurched into one of the stalls and began to pee. Problem was, I started wiping before I had finished urinating, so I ended up pissing all over my hand.

That kind of thing didn’t help calm my sickly stomach.

Dimly, I realized I was going to puke, so I stood up and turned towards the toilet. But, as I was turning, I was also vomiting, so I ended up throwing up all over the walls of the stall. Dejected, I plopped myself down on the floor and stared at the mess I had made.

I’m not sure how long I sat there, but at some point, I attempted to clean up. My perceptions were all fucked up though, which might explain why I thought only two small squares of toilet paper would be sufficient to clean up 2 gallons of vomit. As I sat in the stall smearing the contents of my stomach around on the walls, I heard a tap on the door.

Strange Girl: “Hey, your friend wants to know if you’re alright….?”

*pause*

Strange Girl: “Oh. You’re not alright, are you?”

Within seconds, the bathroom filled with bouncers and various other hick employees who were trying to get me to come out of the stall. These fuckers pissed me off because I wasn’t ready to come out yet. I hadn’t finished cleaning up! I shamelessly accosted a guy with a mop:

V: “How mush do you make?”

Guy W/ Mop: “Huh?”

V: “How mush do ya make? Yanno, inna hour?”

Guy W/ Mop: “What do you mean?”

V: “MONEYYY. How mush is’a hour? Cuz it’s snot enuff to clean up my puke. I’ll clean up my own puke…”

I’m not sure how they got me out of the bathroom. I think someone distracted me with something shiny. Mike drove me home, stopping the car every 15 minutes or so, so I could have another puke break.

I woke up the next morning still drunk.

And about 30 minutes late for work.

Most people would have called off. But I couldn’t call off. I was the boss and I had to show up. So I called Mike and asked him if he’d take me to work considering that I was still too drunk to drive. He obliged.

So began the very legendary day at work when ‘the boss’ showed up wearing a low cut top and pajama bottoms with smeared eye make-up and puke in her hair. My employees were shocked to see me thus. They crowded around me, worried, that I might have gotten mugged or something. Then the smell hit them.

Employee: “Eewwww. You smell like booze….”

V: “Yanno whats worsh than commin’ to work drunkt? Insubordination. That’s worsh. I’ll…..I’ll…..I’ll fire you.”

My assistant ushered me into my office and spent the whole day nursing me back to health with orange juice and saltine crackers. I sobered up around noon. Still, I stayed in my office for the rest of the day with a bag off ice on my head and the blinds tightly closed to block out the sunlight.

I promoted that assistant.

For a full month afterwards, the smell of alcohol made me nauseous. But it took me almost a decade before I was able to face the Tequila Monster again.

Last year, I met my friend Holly for lunch at a Mexican restaurant. We ordered nachos and split a pitcher of margaritas. Since Holly knew a lot of the wait staff there, we started getting complimentary shots of tequila sent to our table. The next thing I know, Holly and I are stumbling down the street singing ‘Feliz Navidad’ in search of a real bar.

We found one, but before we went in, Holly told me that she was going to go around to the side of the building and force herself to throw up.

V: “Whaaaa….? Are ya crazy? Why ya do that?”

Holly: “Because I can keep drinkin’ if I throw up.”

V: “BUT THAT’S ALCOHOL ABUSE!”

Holly: “Just wait right here for a second.”

Holly disappeared around the side of the building and apparently came back to find me muttering, “Wastin’ it. Why drink it ifa gonna waste it…”

Upon entering the bar, we very quickly became ‘those girls.’ You know, the girls who are laughing too loudly and spilling their drinks like fucking idiots? Yeah, those girls. The only reason we didn’t get thrown out was because I kept thrusting $10 bills at the bartender every time we made a mess.

After awhile, we noticed that the creepy single guys were starting to surround us like predatory sharks, so we decided that it was time to call our husbands. I’m not sure if I threw up that night, but I do know that I kept insisting that my feet felt like erasers.

I hope you all can learn from my mistakes. The Tequila Monster is a formidable opponent. If you value your reputation in the least, you will not cross him.

But if you do? Promote that assistant that nursed you back to health even though your breathe smelled like a cat had taken a dump in your mouth the night before.

It’s the right thing to do.

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