Everyone has a drinking story. It can swing either good or bad. When you have a great story, they are told all the time, to cheers of well wishes, clinked glasses from allies, and high 5’s from complete perfect strangers. And the bad stories are just almost the same, they crack riots of laughter among your circles, you get sympathy hugs and drinks, and high 5’s from complete perfect strangers. So hopefully after this story I get a cheer, a high 5 and clinked glasses. This story will aptly be called:
"1.25L mixer and beat-box idols"
It was a brisk spring evening. My parents were away at Cairns for a few weeks, exploring what extreme temperatures close to the equator brings with the enduring pursuit of souvenir spoons with hanging medallions as part of their mission. I decided that a small get together of brilliant friends and well wishers was in the cards. Crack out the Nintendo’s, Pizza’s from my then work (as a pizza buoy) and booze was just perfect fodder for a great night. I called up my circle of friends, and soon enough there was a good collection of friends at my empty abode. We stuck into the food and booze fairly quickly and spent the next few hours yelling abuse at one another over games of Perfect Dark and Goldeneye, whilst laughing at the incredibly offensive shit we said. Eventually a few people left and what was left was your humble narrator, a tall dude in the ways of awesome named Chris “Hellboy” Haak and the uber talented Kevin Bala. The time was creeping around to 3am and we were feeling mighty hungry and looking for some form of meaty substance to mop up booze swelled stomachs, so we had the brilliant idea of walking to the only 24hour burger joint open at that time of night. And in your drunken thoughts, a simple stumble to a burger joint is easy. What we didn’t consider that this was at least 10 kilometres of walking ahead of us. So to hell with it, we prepared a 1.25L mix of 3 parts Coke and 1 part Scotch and made our way to the late night Mecca.
It started off strong. The three of us felt semi concious, we were literate and adamant in getting to that late night burger joint… the one I don’t want to mention by name, just in case. Chris and myself were just laughing at stories of moments passed and passing around our mixer bottle. We both then noticed that Kevin was doing OK, but starting to slur his sentences a little. We ignored that warning sign and continued. Eventually, like maybe 3 more kilometres down the road Kevin suggested if he could lie down for a while. We told him to keep his mind on the tasty burgers and to stop being a little bitch, which is always solid advice to any friend at any given moment, for example;
-“Hey man, I need stitches, could you drive me to the hospital?”.
-“PFFT! You’ll bleed all over my leather seats, stop being a little bitch!”
Moving on! So eventually we made our way to this burger joint, our heels were on fire and our stomachs were close to eating themselves. The time was 4:30am. Kevin was a wreck and instantly walked up to a booth and passed out. Hellboy Haak and myself lined up. Chris then asked me “Dude, is that Joel Turner?” Joel Turner the beat boxing contestant of Australian Idol 2003 (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joel_Turner_%28musician%29), in the middle of suburbia, at 4 in the morning, standing in line for a burger? I could only justify that with a reply of “As if dude! Pffft! If he was here he would totally be beat boxing to pay for his burgers and crap!” we laughed hysterically, and started to rip shit all over the guy who we thought looked like Joel Turner. I think I said something drunk like that his music was made by dyslexic armless deaf mutes with only half the talent, and Chris gave me a beat-box back beat whilst I did so. The guy who looked like Joel Turner was starting to look uncomfortable. A girl that was next to us actually asked loudly if he really was Joel Turner, which then Joel Turner sheepishly replied with:
"Yeah. I am".
HOLY FUCKING MEAT BURGERS AND FRIES! I was ripping shit on Joel Turner to his face, and he did nothing about it? Oh no. It got worse, the girl who asked the question had a brief chat with Joel:
Grrrl: So… do you do autographs?
Joel: Yeah, did you want one?
Grrrl: No. Don’t worry bout it.
Silence. Stunned silence was present. Followed by a delayed riot of laughter. Wow. What a burn indeed! No words can properly describe the face that he pulled after that conversation, it was like seeing an already defeated boxer get knocked out in the parking lot of a boxing event by an old lady wielding a shopping bag. Well, eventually we got our burgers, ate them with high spirits and swelled pride. It was a great night indeed, how often do you have nights where you shame out a Z grade celebrity? So that brings us to the end of part 1. Part 2 is the conclusion of this story, and believe me, it swings from the greatest night ever, to one that is slightly bizarre.
To Be Continued…