Sometimes, It’s Bad - Part II

Friday evening there was a formal party for the out of town guests. The invitation indicated that “beverages and canapés” would be served. Not having a freaking clue what canapés might be, I asked the Best Man (a.k.a. my buddy Matt, with whom I was sharing a hotel room).

“I dunno,” he offered with remarkably typical insight, “probably some kinda Jewish thing.”

It seemed like a reasonable conclusion… what with Mick being Jewish and all.

This little extravaganza was at the home of the bride’s parents – a gorgeous house right on the river. I was in stunned awe. Thankfully Rule #2 (Speak only when absolutely necessary) alleviated me of the worrisome chore of trying to make conversation while in my overwhelming state of dumbfoundedness.

Waiters with white gloves served drinks and the mysterious canapés – which I was relieved to discover is a funny way to say, “strangely mismatched foods wrapped together all fancy-like, combined with a bunch a of unidentifiable goops within which to dip crackers”.

The whole scene was all well and good but I was pretty glad when it was done. At about 11 o’clock I politely thanked my hosts and headed out for an evening of booze-addled debauchery in the hotbed of romance and intrigue, downtown Windsor.

We strolled, and then stumbled, from blues bars to nightclubs and back into blues bars. One, two and three AM rolled past and the streets were still polluted with hammered bar-goers.

Eventually we happened upon a wise and kind bartender who had the common courtesy to stop serving us alcohol. After an unnecessarily long adventure trying to navigate back to our hotel through the blurry chaos and mayhem that only life threatening quantities of beer can bring, we exploded into our hotel room and began the well earned process of passing out. As is often the case, it appears as though our brains shut down well before our bodies.

At some point, far too shortly after sunrise, I awoke in the fetal position beneath a table. Not surprisingly my neck and back were screaming. My head throbbed and my stomach churned. I was covered in sweat. I took a quick swig from the half full Coke bottle I had been using as a pillow.

… Wha… !?! Covered in sweat!? All the rooms had air conditioning, but somehow this one was hot and muggy… and kinda stinky.

I fought my way to a semi-upright position and patiently waited for the room to stop spinning. Through squinting eyes and burning contacts I surveyed the holocaust that lay before me. The room was littered with half emptied whisky bottles, a sea of beer cans, grease-soaked pizza boxes, a street barricade, the hood of a Chevy Impala, a giant stuffed pony dressed in drag, three circus performers (bound and gagged), and the immobile bodies of several of my friends. From the corner of the room the air conditioning unit was emitting a loud, mechanical humming noise as it laboured to cool our tropical nightmare. Sitting on top of it was one of the enormous boxes of half-eaten pizza. It was completely blocking the cold air return vents.