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Oktoberfest 2003
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Oktoberfest 03 - Sept 2003
There’s not a whole lot to this story, but it gave birth to the nickname for my car. It was the first weekend of Oktoberfest (2003) and Ben, Nelson, Steve, and I decided to go for some drinks. We didn’t go on university night, however, oh no… we went on old person, oompa band night. When we got there, we found nothing but cougars and classic rock, aka nothing to do but drink.
I started the night off right by buying two beers and chugging one. We found a table and grabbed a seat. Steve, who had been in Germany the year before was decked out in his shirt from the REAL Oktoberfest, drinking the “authentic German beer” the convention centre had for sale, and telling us tales of how they ran things in Europe. I was fairly interested until I remembered I had a beer in my hand. The rest of the night continued on like this, Steve telling stories, Nelson wanting to go look for girls, me two fisting beers, and Ben sitting there like he owned the place.
After a fairly uneventful evening, we left. On the way back to the car, Ben lit up a cigarette. He even let me have a puff (which was a big mistake, cause I don’t smoke and cigarette smoke makes me sick). We all piled into my car, Steve least drunk and therefore driver, with me behind him in the backseat. We took Nelson home and then went back thru Osbourne Village, on our way back to HQ, where Ben and Steve were living at the time. This is when the night took a turn for the worse….
My body hadn’t minded all the beer so much, but the smokes pissed it right off. Just as we were coming up to the Zoo, I remember managing to muster “Pull Over” to Steve, about 1.8 seconds before I let it fly. All over me, all over the backseat, all over the front seat, all over Steve…. Poor Steve. He pulled over and washed himself off and we continued on to HQ, like a half hour drive, in the Malibu full of barf.
The next morning I woke up wearing Ben’s clothes on a couch in the living room of the HQ. I remembered I had to be somewhere in like, an hour, so I forced myself to get up and go. My car was chock full of barf and it smelled like grim death. It took me damn near two weeks and several bottles of cleaning products to get that stench under control.
Since then my car has been known as the barfmobile.
UPDATE: after a hard 45 minutes and about 50 bucks at club 3D one night, i found myself in the backseat of the car at 6 AM with barf all over the floor.
UPDATE 2: at crazy camping 2004, travino slept in the front seat and at one point barfed all over the outside of the car
UPDATE 3: see nelson's story |
27 Mar 2005 by Spencer
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