8.3% ABV bottled
Last night at 5 AM, after a girl threw me out of her apartment, I found myself alone, in the middle of nowhere in Queens, calmly walking down the street, wondering how the fuck I was going to get back to Manhattan when…I fell ass over teakettle on the sidewalk. As I rolled and skidded, I woke up the only other persons on the street at the time, two sleeping transients who quickly came over to help me up. I threw the bums a dime, and with my jeans’ knee now ripped I was no longer dressed so fine. I was just confused. There was nothing that tripped me, no one that had pushed me, I just had fell. In theory that makes no sense, you say, until I tell you that I had begun drinking some ten hours earlier, starting my Sunday afternoon with a rare bottle of the legendary Founders Breakfast Stout.
Big ups to my friend BDH, a prince of a man who scored me this coveted beer, currently the #15 ranked beer in the world, on a recent business trip to Detroit. The Vice Blog will permanently hold a special place for BDH in our corroded heart. The stout is perfectly balanced but, oh!, so complex, so many different flavors, all put to splendid use. Aptly named as it just feels like a breakfast beer. Coffee lovers like myself will love this one as the smell of Joe is most prominent. Roasted flavors with hints of subtle chocolate flakes and oatmeal. Incredibly drinkable for the ABV. A great beer, no question, but I’m not sure that it’s one of the twenty best in the world, though it is a world-class American stout. So glad to have tried it though, and glad to hopefully have more soon.
As I type this, I am only able to use my right hand, my left hand badly cut and gashed from last night’s tumble. A sack of ice on my right knee where a big bruised bump protrudes. A medium-level drinking injury, no question, but I’m still in a bit of pain. Any one that is a steady drinker has got to have a history of tumbles and spills, trips and slips, which have led to scars, wounds, sprains, and breaks which may just last until the next day, or which may afflict one for the rest of time.
The older we get the more foolish of injuries we receive from drinking. Heck, just Tuesday night I spent ten hours hunkered over a bar watching college hoops. I knew at the time the bar stools were uncomfortable and the bar layout poorly conceived, forcing me to lean way too far over to drink. I awoke Wednesday with incredible back pain, forced to scuttle around the next day like I had scoliosis, a hungover Quasimodo.
Any one that drinks has chipped a tooth on a beer bottle. If you haven’t, you don’t drink enough or you somehow have incredible dexterity, suppleness, and hand-eye coordination while intoxicated.
Falling down stairs is another common drinking injury. One that’s claimed me many times. Seems 50% of Manhattan bars have their bathroom downstairs. Tight, narrow, small stairs without handrails. I’ve fallen, slid, and ass-bounced my way down all of them. Why oh why, when oh when, will bars gets escalators to the loo? It’d sure be a lot safer and save me from numerous embarrassing injuries. My worst stair fall being when I rolled on top of my thumb and seemingly dislocated it. I was forced to ask the bartender to bag me some ice when I returned. Never cool to be the guy in the corner of the bar icing his digits.
I recall a Saturday I had spent all day drinking and watching sports while my sweet girlfriend painted her apartment. I stumbled over at 10 PM to see that she’d pretty much finished everything save for the hard-to-reach ceiling/wall edging work, something her lack of height prevented her from accomplishing. Thus, I was enlisted to finish this up. Drunk and uninhibited, I brazenly climbed onto a rickety step stool to do the work and though my girlfriend said “Beware doll, you’re bound to fall,” you can, imagine how this story ends. As I somersaulted off the stool backwards I remember thinking, “My God, I’m going to die.” Nope, I just hit a cabinet and landed on my neck, some of the worst pain of my life. I was laid prone for the next two hours, but at least I got a sensual massage out of it from my lady.
My absolute worst drinking injury though involves a wee hour piggy back ride. Returning from a $1-a-drink special, a girl I was with implored me to give her a piggy back ride. I’m the kind of guy that thinks even the most innocuous inter-gender touching is just a ploy for a woman to transition herself into bed with me, so I was obviously game for it. When the girl hopped on my back though she got too high up and we became top-heavy as I walked. We started to teeter and soon I was falling forward. She was able to jump off my back like a passenger abandoning a sinking ship but I ate concrete with my face. So, instead of ending the evening by hooking up, by even having a nice at-home night cap, I spent the hours of 3 AM to 4 AM sitting on the shut toilet lid as the girl Neosporined my face and bandaged me up. I looked like absolutely hell the next day. Like a guy who had literally washed his face with gravel. I was exfoliated almost to the bone. The next day also happened to be Passover and I obviously had to feign an illness to skip the family Seder up in Westchester. For the next two weeks I told any one that asked–oh, and everyone did ask–that I had gotten into a fight on the basketball court with some hoodlums over a disputed foul call, too embarrassed to tell the real truth. To this day I still have an ever-so-slight scar at the corner of my left eye, the only wound still remaining from a decade of drinking follies.
I suppose my drinking injuries aren’t too terrible and could certainly be worse. But I want to know, what’s your worst all-time drinking injury?