Rude Awakening
There are many times in a professional drunks life when he or she will wake up to find that they are injured in some way, shape, or form. This is the story of one of those times for me. There are stories-a-plenty of times like that at the Oregon. This one, however, happened in Germany.
Back in 2004 I was still reeling from my super fast divorce and super fast move from Iraq to the States to Germany. I was in a world of confusion. I plunged into the closest bottle of booze I could get and stayed there for almost that whole year. Well the way my Army buddies and I usually handled our weekends was to do whatever we were doing special on Fridays and Saturday. Then on Sunday we’d slow down because we had to work Monday. Well this particular time I decided I wanted to just stay in and enjoy my drink in the comfort of my own room where I wouldn’t have to worry about getting back home. I could just drink myself into a coma. The restaurant on post gives you a free bottle of wine if you order twenty five bucks worth of food. I had two bottles of that “Winos Delight- Special Homeless Edition” wine in my fridge, a bottle of Raspberry Vodka, a bottle of Southern Comfort, and a case of New Castle Ale. I was good for the night. I settled in to watch a marathon of the first two seasons of Aqua Teen Hunger Force and drink myself sober.
You have to understand that most soldiers are raging drunks due to the suffocating amount of authority we are oppressed by everyday. We drink because it’s a release from the brainwashing that goes on all day everyday in our jobs. It’s not just the lower ranks either. I’ve seen all kinds of different ranked people blind stinking drunk since I’ve been in Germany. The increase in “real world” deployments only makes the urge to drink stronger. So here we are, soldiers all, just getting blitzed all the time cause that’s just what we do, and it's our only release. Guys, girls, young, old, it doesn’t matter.
So I finish the wine first. I destroy the SOCO. Then I kill the Vodka. I can drink Raspberry Vodka straight. It tastes like a girly drink to me but it has the same bite as regular vodka. When I’m about halfway through the case of ale my roommate chimes in with the idea to go downtown and run the gauntlet. Running the gauntlet is what I call bar hopping. In this case bar hopping in Friedberg Germany. Now even though I didn’t want to go out at all that night I was at the point where I’m very open to suggestion. So like a belligerent hypnosis experiment gone terribly wrong I grab my duster and a ball cap and I’m out the door. Five of us set out on our journey through the gauntlet. I hate hanging out at the Pool Hall because it’s a “Joe Bar” as we say. That just means that a lot of soldiers hang out there. Most soldiers are such idiots when sober that we even hate to drink with each other. Well the Pool Hall is the last stop on the list and I am done before I even get there. There is very little ventilation in the Pool Hall so the place fills up with smoke and it just hangs there choking you. So I step outside to get some fresh air. When I do I pass out standing up so down I go. My arms are uselessly limp at my sides so I end up curb stomping myself. The four guys I’m with throw me in a cab take me to the hospital and then back to my room.
When I woke up I had this huge bandage on my fucking chin. When I went to the mirror to see what had happened it looked like I had a goatee of blood and the worst stitch job I have ever seen. I must have woke up enough to put up a fight at the hospital because the stitches weren’t anything resembling straight. Long story short I ended up picking the stitches out probably too early and it scarred over pretty bad. I call it my Indiana Jones Scar and since I’m a big Indiana Jones fan I have grown to like the scar.
Till next time,
Mike
Interesting post script to that story is that I lost my duster, hat, and wallet that night. I got in trouble for losing my military ID and I don’t think I sobered up for two days. A year later the Criminal Investigation Department (CID) of the Army call me and tell me that they found my duster and wallet in the house of a guy they were investigating for one reason or another. So I got my coat back, which was the most important thing, and I got the wallet I had since high school. It has sentimental value. The ball cap’s gone for good but ball caps are a dime a dozen. Later.
Back in 2004 I was still reeling from my super fast divorce and super fast move from Iraq to the States to Germany. I was in a world of confusion. I plunged into the closest bottle of booze I could get and stayed there for almost that whole year. Well the way my Army buddies and I usually handled our weekends was to do whatever we were doing special on Fridays and Saturday. Then on Sunday we’d slow down because we had to work Monday. Well this particular time I decided I wanted to just stay in and enjoy my drink in the comfort of my own room where I wouldn’t have to worry about getting back home. I could just drink myself into a coma. The restaurant on post gives you a free bottle of wine if you order twenty five bucks worth of food. I had two bottles of that “Winos Delight- Special Homeless Edition” wine in my fridge, a bottle of Raspberry Vodka, a bottle of Southern Comfort, and a case of New Castle Ale. I was good for the night. I settled in to watch a marathon of the first two seasons of Aqua Teen Hunger Force and drink myself sober.
You have to understand that most soldiers are raging drunks due to the suffocating amount of authority we are oppressed by everyday. We drink because it’s a release from the brainwashing that goes on all day everyday in our jobs. It’s not just the lower ranks either. I’ve seen all kinds of different ranked people blind stinking drunk since I’ve been in Germany. The increase in “real world” deployments only makes the urge to drink stronger. So here we are, soldiers all, just getting blitzed all the time cause that’s just what we do, and it's our only release. Guys, girls, young, old, it doesn’t matter.
So I finish the wine first. I destroy the SOCO. Then I kill the Vodka. I can drink Raspberry Vodka straight. It tastes like a girly drink to me but it has the same bite as regular vodka. When I’m about halfway through the case of ale my roommate chimes in with the idea to go downtown and run the gauntlet. Running the gauntlet is what I call bar hopping. In this case bar hopping in Friedberg Germany. Now even though I didn’t want to go out at all that night I was at the point where I’m very open to suggestion. So like a belligerent hypnosis experiment gone terribly wrong I grab my duster and a ball cap and I’m out the door. Five of us set out on our journey through the gauntlet. I hate hanging out at the Pool Hall because it’s a “Joe Bar” as we say. That just means that a lot of soldiers hang out there. Most soldiers are such idiots when sober that we even hate to drink with each other. Well the Pool Hall is the last stop on the list and I am done before I even get there. There is very little ventilation in the Pool Hall so the place fills up with smoke and it just hangs there choking you. So I step outside to get some fresh air. When I do I pass out standing up so down I go. My arms are uselessly limp at my sides so I end up curb stomping myself. The four guys I’m with throw me in a cab take me to the hospital and then back to my room.
When I woke up I had this huge bandage on my fucking chin. When I went to the mirror to see what had happened it looked like I had a goatee of blood and the worst stitch job I have ever seen. I must have woke up enough to put up a fight at the hospital because the stitches weren’t anything resembling straight. Long story short I ended up picking the stitches out probably too early and it scarred over pretty bad. I call it my Indiana Jones Scar and since I’m a big Indiana Jones fan I have grown to like the scar.
Till next time,
Mike
Interesting post script to that story is that I lost my duster, hat, and wallet that night. I got in trouble for losing my military ID and I don’t think I sobered up for two days. A year later the Criminal Investigation Department (CID) of the Army call me and tell me that they found my duster and wallet in the house of a guy they were investigating for one reason or another. So I got my coat back, which was the most important thing, and I got the wallet I had since high school. It has sentimental value. The ball cap’s gone for good but ball caps are a dime a dozen. Later.
posted by Mike | 4:12 PM
2 Comments:
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
you need to tell the story about how you lost use of one of your toes. and how jim and i had to look like shifty bastards buying the stuff that gets blood out of the carpet from walmart at 3 am.
i think any story about oregon needs to be titled "The Oregon: Year X - The Tale of blah blah blah" and we need to have crossover issues. like "to see how (but not why) mike wound up painting that rented pony to look like the fruit stripe zebra see issue 43:
'http://biffcalhoon.blogspot.com/insert-title-here'!" - Doc"
man, i wish that was a real story now.
Dr. R
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