New Year’s Evil

post details top
Aug 16th, 2006
post details top

This sordid tale occurs, not in any of the drinking Mecca’s of the known universe, but in the last place on Earth you’d ever hope to find two hopelessly loaded Americans and one drunken but well dressed English gent. Yes, Disney World in godforsaken Orlando, Florida.

The event was a Reseller conference for … well, to avoid a lawsuit, let’s just call the company Crap Taurus. The fine folks at Crap Taurus had recently relieved Lazy Eight of its relevance and were apparently ready to trumpet on about it at this overblown, poorly located, PowerPoint laden bore-fest in “The Happiest Place on Earth”. Oh, the irony.

Big Brain, WWKD, and ColoniaAl decided early on that the only reason to be at this non-event was to drink heavily. Oddly, this is the same reasoning behind past, more relevant Reseller Conferences; however those were well planned and sensibly located in places where you could get a decent beer or twelve.

Long story short … it’s been a long day of corporate “blah blah blah” and our heroes, now quite parched from boredom and in need of a thorough mind-numbing, are stuck in, of all places Disney-f’ing-World. Oddly, there is an adult section of this mouse-led horror show called Pleasure Island … and you can get good ol’ domestic brew and hard liquor at every street corner.

The drinks began to flow, including countless abysmal domestic beers, and then, because the beer was crap, the “T” word was mentioned. Ah, Tequila … ruiner of souls and ex Van Halen singers. As luck would have it, we found a Tequila stand just off of a huge outdoor stage with an awful eighties dance rock cover band. As lounge act strains of “Hip to Be Square” pulsed in our heads we sank shot after shot …. Until at long last “the feeling” arrived. You know “the feeling”? It’s that special place nestled between “just enough” and “one too many”. That place where you should stop drinking but know full well that you won’t.

It was after our third or fourth shot that everything went dark, the crowd went silent, and then a giant countdown timer started above the stage. Drunk and disorderly as we had become, we found this quite vexing. 10 … 9 … 8 … stop me if you’ve heard this.

Next thing you know fireworks are going off, the band is playing something horrible, and everyone is shouting “Happy New Year!” at the top of their LL Bean clad lungs. Seeing how it was April – Big Brain, WWKD and I were horrified! We’d finally done it … we’d finally drank ourselves into either the past or the future. Nether place would be good in this state.

As it turns out, this particular slice of refried Americana (Disney) celebrates New Year’s every single night. Yes, you can spend an entire week of evenings, in Groundhog-Day-like fashion, celebrating the same night over and over again. Still, who can blame ‘em? Our little group is much the same, just with more drinking and less funny hats.
I’d love to say that the night ended there, but alas there is a Part II to this tale that involves “one more drink” (words that always mean you are completely screwed) …. A hotel bar … the brand new CEO of Crap Taurus … and the “Nightcap from Hell”. I’ll leave that story for Big B …