My friends often take on the task of getting me drunk, though my liver is generally my number one support system and I have it to thank for my unusually high tolerance to drugs and alcohol. That being said, there are a couple moments in my past that are questionable to say the least. Let’s dive into one of those shall we.
Picture this; I’m 18. I’m in Germany. My friend and I are getting ready to go to the club in her bedroom, and she insists that I down a whole bottle of Hugo, which is essentially a sweet sparkling wine. It is her mission tonight to get me drunk. I suppose it’s as good an opportunity as any. Generally I always drive my friends everywhere, so actually having a designated driver for myself is something new.
At this time, my friend was dating a player on the German National Handball team. Did you know that was a thing? Neither did I… Anyway, here we are, going to meet half a dozen teammates, and I’m a bottle in.
It was just my friend and I, and six or seven handball players at the club. We were so early that for at least 30min, we were the only people in the place. But that changed soon enough. It was a Thursday and the club had some sort of deal on that day, it was free to enter, but you had to buy at least 10 drinks. But drinks were also only 1€ each. However, I was still not interested in drinking another 10 drinks. I would have to devise a plan.
I started with beer, Kolsch of course, because we were in Cologne afterall. The club was bopping and I was four pints in when I figured it would be a great idea to buy a round for the players, my plan for covering those 10 mandatory drinks. In Germany, it’s popular to drink a tall glass of Vodka mixed with Redbull, and it is probably one of the sweetest most terrible drinks I have ever had. Alas, this is what I ordered for the team as this was their go-to tonight.
My whole plan backfired. Because I had bought the team a round, they now thought it was only right that each and every one of them buy me a round…and there were definitely more than half a dozen players in the club now. So there I was, downing glass after glass of this horrid blend of Vodka and Redbull. Boy do I hate energy drinks, give me straight up shots any day. “Prost”. We say and clink our glasses together around the small round cocktail table. It is essential that we all make eye contact with one another when doing so, otherwise we’ll have seven years of bad sex. Or so I’ve been told. And only then, can we chug the entire glass. One after another. I lost count at 7 glasses.
I started to feel a little queezy so I proceeded to head outside to the smoking patio with my friend, she needed a smoke break anyway. Honestly everything was perfectly fine, until it wasn’t. One minute I am fully invested in our conversation, feeling completely sober, and the next, I vomiting prefusely on the cement. I made it to the bathroom by some miracle, and continue to toss my cookies over what was probably not the most hygenic of toilet seats. As I sat there on the floor I lost contact with my friend because drunk girl after drunk girl kept piling into the stall saying, “it’ll be alright” and “it happens to the best of us”. I specifically remember this one girl standing over me for quite some time, rubbing my back and keeping my hair out of my face. What a gem.
The next thing I knew, the bouncer had made his way into the ladies bathroom, he was like, “okay, you’re out”, but in German. This very large man, covered head to toe in tattoos lifted me up from the floor, and carried me out to the parking lot, the girl from the stall patting me on the head as we left. From there, my new handball player friends helped me to the car. The rest of the story is a bit hazy as I went in and out of conciousness.
I turned my head towards the voices, there were four guys squished into the back seat of my friend’s car. Again it was, “it’s okay”, “it happens”, “poor Canadian”. As the car stopped at lights, and turned corners, I didn’t have a lot of control of my head and it bopped around and smacked the window a couple times before a hand from the back seat came out and held my head away from it. I appreciated the support. Verbal and physical by the looks of it.
All of a sudden I am being put on a bed. I do not know how I got from the car to the bed, but I was definitely happy to feel it beneath me. I immediatley fell asleep.
I startle awake, I have literally no idea where I am, what time it is, or who’s arm is wrapped around my body. All I know, is that I have to pee so badly that I may just pee myself. I crawl out from under the rather good looking, half naked man beside me, and quickly head for the bathroom. Only, there doesn’t appear to be a bathroom to be found. I open one door to find a hotel hallway, another, a kitchen, and the third is the door that connects to another room. I walk to the windows and look at the small patio, it’s dark out, could I get away with peeing off the balcony? How would I even do that? I felt like I was going crazy.
I decided against the balcony and head back towards the connecting door. I open it a foot, and peek inside. I see my friend and her boyfriend asleep in the bed, and across from them I finally see the holy grail, the bathroom. I open the door slowly and as quietly as possible, and quickly make my way into the bathroom. After I have peed I take a good look in the mirror. Yikes. My eyes are like a raccoon, and there is vomit on my shirt. Oh, and did I mention I wasn’t wearing pants? I find what I hope to be a cleanish towel, and I wipe my eyes, and try to clean off the bits of puke before I go back to bed. And no, for whatever reason I did not consider waking the sleeping man in the bed when I was so desperate to find the bathroom. Why? I have no idea. Apparently the balcony option seemed like a more reasonable option at the time.
After a couple hours or so, my friend and I are snuck out of the hotel via a back entrance. On the drive home, my friend fills in the gaps. Apparently even after my vomiting episode, one of the handball players still fancied me enough to carry passed out me from the car, all the way up the back staircase of the hotel where the players were staying. My friend said that this player was so concerned about me, and so protective that he wouldn’t let anyone help him either. He had laid me on his bed so carefully, and removed my vomit covered jeans, before making sure I was tucked in for the night. I know this may sound a bit sus, but honestly it was just very sweet. We had to be snuck in and out too, because apparently the players aren’t supposed to have girls in their rooms…oops.
I definitely never spoke to any of those players again. I was a bit mortified for a hot minute, and it didn’t help that they continuously asked my friend, how their “poor Canadian” was doing. For literal months after the fact. I am so glad they’re not together anymore. Now she’s dating a professional soccer player. Hopefully I can stomach the team excursion this time…
Moral of the story: Never mix Redbull with Vodka.
Just A Small Town Girl 