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Alcohol. It can be fun and it can suck the life out of you. I’m sure for most of us, we have at one time or another over indulged when we should have held back. Some of us have probably had so much of a specific drink that just the smell or thought makes us sick to our stomach. Can you remember a time when this happened? Can you remember if you woke up in bed or next to the toilet? It is always fun until the next morning or if you had way too much then the nightmare begins that same night.

When I think of moments like this I think about Christmas 2001 and my run in with a jerk named Bacardi. I had recently moved to Florida and my family and I were going to spend the holidays with my cousins and my uncle. They were having two separate celebrations so we were going to head to my cousins first and then my uncles. It was about 10:30 in the morning and we were getting ready to head to my cousins house. I helped pack the car and I noticed a Mustang pull into the drive way. I approached the vehicle and there sat my cousin Emmett and my uncle.

“Why don’t you come with us? The rest of the family is going to meet at our place later anyway,” explained Emmett.

I stood there for a moment and decided I would go. I got in and noticed there was a case of Michelob Light in the back already. It was still early so I figured that the beer was for later on. When we arrived at my uncles home I brought the beer into the garage. I was going to take it inside when my uncle laughed and asked what I was doing. I told him I was taking it inside for later and he responded with,

“This is just the beginning. Pass me one.”

I froze for a moment and a rush of scared and excited feelings ran through my body. I’m sure I was about 98% scared and 2% excited because I had to pee. I sat with them and we drank while reflecting on old times and listening to Mexican music. We were having an excellent time and we tore up plenty of tamales. Before I knew it the case was gone. It was still early and I was relieved that we were done because I wasn’t sure that I could take much more. We sat around a little longer and my eyes popped wide open when another case emerged. Apparently there was a back up inside and we hit it again. This time it was just my cousin and I taking them down. My uncle had actually only had a few and was sobering up for the rest of the day.

The day went on and the festivities were great. Emmett and I had finished about half of the second case over several hours when he brought out a very large bottle of Bacardi that had been purchased in Mexico a while back. I wasn’t a huge fan of Bacardi but I thought, “What the hell.” We started swigging from the bottle and chasing it with beer. My uncle told us to be careful and we blew off his warnings because we thought we were badass. Toward the evening I accompanied my uncle and my cousin to a friends house where they were celebrating as well. This is where the nightmare began. I remember arriving at their friends trailer and several Mexican guys outside standing around a campfire. They were all dressed in patented button up dress shirts, nut hugger Wranglers, belt buckles, shit kicker cowboy boots, and cowboy hats. The music was blaring and the beer was flowing.

*Blackout*

The next thing I remember was being arm in arm with everyone, swaying back and forth, and singing.

*Blackout*

The next time I woke up I was sitting in my uncles truck with my head on the dash and I was looking down at the floor board.

“You ok cuz?”

I turned my head to the right and there was Emmett. We were both in the same position and he looked like hell. I’m sure I didn’t look any better and the world was spinning.

“Cuz I…I think I need to puke.”

“No bro! Not in here, you need to go outside.”

“I can’t move…I have to puke.”

There was nothing I could do. If I had moved I probably would have chucked right there. I took a deep breath and told my cousin to do what needed to be done.

“Well…maybe I can ho….rahhhhhhhhhhhhh”

There it went, all over the floor board. Tamales with a side of alcohol filled the truck and I patted his back. I told him it would be alright, I told him we would be ok but I was simply lying to myself because the aroma hit me next. The hot funk filled the truck and my mouth began to water. I couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Rahhhhhhhhhh, *deep breath* rahhhhhh”

“You ok cousin?”

“I’m scared bro, I’m scared.”

I wanted to cry as my body rejected the trash I had taken in. Christmas had turned into a nightmare and I had no one to blame but myself. We were in there for a while and you would think we would have moved from the vomit filled truck but we didn’t. I was praying that I would feel better when my uncle ripped the door open.

“WTF did you two do to my truck? I can’t believe….DAMN IT!”

He was a little mad at us and for a good reason too. We made it back to his place and my mom was there to take me home. I spent the rest of the night with my head in a garbage can and I had to drink water just to get the remaining alcohol out of my system. It was a bad night and since then I have never had Bacardi again. I don’t drink like that anymore and I’m happy, but I will never forget this day. Although I like telling the story, it makes me want to puke. If anything I can use this story as a scare tactic for when my children get older and ask about drinking.

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