Gather 'round, kiddies, and listen well to my tale of woe! :-)
Some time around 1990 or so, my best friend from high school was getting married. I lived in Toronto at the time; he and the fiance lived in Cambridge, ON, less than an hour's drive to the west. The best man and many of the groom's more obnoxious friends all lived in the vicinity of Kincardin, a couple of hours' drive due north of Cambridge, on the shores of Georgian Bay and Lake Huron. I offer this information so that you'll understand why (a) they needed sane/sober drivers, and (b) why the road trip was rather lengthy.
The stag party the night before the wedding was really more of a beach party at the best man's family cottage. They underestimated the number of people attending however and quickly ran out of light booze. That's when they really starting hitting the hard stuff. In their inebriated state, they also created a vile concoction: a combination of peach schnappes and chocolate milk.
I'm not making this up.
Not being a drinker at all and knowing that I'd have to be chaperoning these people home some hours later, I caught a couple of hours' sleep in the car while they caroused. Around 4 AM, I was roused so I could take them back to Cambridge. Most were still conscious & active enough when I squeezed them into the best man's station wagon: one in the front with me, two in the back seat and the passed out one in the back.
The first half-hour was pretty good, actually. They were feeling no pain and all of them promptly fell asleep/passed out so I didn't have to contend with a bunch of drunken sods telling me at great length what a great sport I was for hauling their sorry asses home. Unfortunately, about 10 minutes after they fell silent, they started throwing up.
Actually, the passed out one in the back --never did know his name-- threw up first. It was a wretched stench of soured chocolate milk with schnappes. Utterly vile. The stench almost made me throw up too. Unfortunately, it did start a chain reaction with the rest. All of them threw up at least once in the remaining 90 minutes' drive. Even driving with the windows open did not help.
The bride was none too impressed with the hung-over bunch the next day. We had to park the best man's car two blocks away from the church so that the roiling stench wouldn't spoil the otherwise flawless wedding. I doubt that car ever smelled right again.
Coffee and milk doesn't sound so bad anymore, does it? :-)
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Some time around 1990 or so, my best friend from high school was getting married. I lived in Toronto at the time; he and the fiance lived in Cambridge, ON, less than an hour's drive to the west. The best man and many of the groom's more obnoxious friends all lived in the vicinity of Kincardin, a couple of hours' drive due north of Cambridge, on the shores of Georgian Bay and Lake Huron. I offer this information so that you'll understand why (a) they needed sane/sober drivers, and (b) why the road trip was rather lengthy.
The stag party the night before the wedding was really more of a beach party at the best man's family cottage. They underestimated the number of people attending however and quickly ran out of light booze. That's when they really starting hitting the hard stuff. In their inebriated state, they also created a vile concoction: a combination of peach schnappes and chocolate milk.
I'm not making this up.
Not being a drinker at all and knowing that I'd have to be chaperoning these people home some hours later, I caught a couple of hours' sleep in the car while they caroused. Around 4 AM, I was roused so I could take them back to Cambridge. Most were still conscious & active enough when I squeezed them into the best man's station wagon: one in the front with me, two in the back seat and the passed out one in the back.
The first half-hour was pretty good, actually. They were feeling no pain and all of them promptly fell asleep/passed out so I didn't have to contend with a bunch of drunken sods telling me at great length what a great sport I was for hauling their sorry asses home. Unfortunately, about 10 minutes after they fell silent, they started throwing up.
Actually, the passed out one in the back --never did know his name-- threw up first. It was a wretched stench of soured chocolate milk with schnappes. Utterly vile. The stench almost made me throw up too. Unfortunately, it did start a chain reaction with the rest. All of them threw up at least once in the remaining 90 minutes' drive. Even driving with the windows open did not help.
The bride was none too impressed with the hung-over bunch the next day. We had to park the best man's car two blocks away from the church so that the roiling stench wouldn't spoil the otherwise flawless wedding. I doubt that car ever smelled right again.
Coffee and milk doesn't sound so bad anymore, does it? :-)