Fast forward 14 days later, and off I go towards my bright new future, just as any responsible adult would, bravely battling the worst hangover known to man. With barely enough energy to stand up, let alone throw my belongings into a pack and carry it to the awaiting car, I cursed the names of a few so called “friends” who ever so graciously bid me adieu with words of encouragement and far too many IPA’s the night before.
Pfffh….Some friends.... more like assholes.
With brow furrowed, palms sweating uncontrollably, and my saliva glands working overtime packing my esophagus with spit in an attempt to keep anything from coming back up, I concentrated, taking deep controlled breathes as I silently prayed to anyone that might be listening. I didn’t matter who it was; God, Allah, sweet baby Jesus, or the almighty Spirit Bear, I just needed a miracle. I pleaded with each of them separately and then again together, as a super-spirit-power.
“Please, just get me through this. I’ll do anything…anything.”
And yep, I said it, it’s shameful I know, but I said it….
“I Promise oh Super–Spirit-Power, if you get me through this….I will never drink again.”
And somehow, despite knowing that this was definitely an empty promise, the almighty sprit conglomerate sent forth an answer. They told me that the only way I was to survive this horrid mess that those assholes, Hot Tom, J-Rad, Jake, and Jules, had gotten me into was to set a few small goals. Like a pack of angels, they spoke to me and said “Okay, you can do this B. Just don’t puke on your new boss’s shoes when she comes to pick you up.”
Check.
“Simply refrained from spackling the interior of her car with vomit.”
Barely, but check!
“Now just get yourself through the airport security gates without heaving up stomach bile for the 5th time this morning.”
Damn. Probably could have had that one if I hadn’t been forced to drink the contents of my open water bottle before going through the goddamn x-rays.
“It’s OK, setbacks happen. Now get yourself comfortably buckled into the middle seat of the middle row which is exactly equidistant from both the forward and aft restrooms.”
Perfect.
“Make yourself aware of the location of the barf bag and accept that you may actually have to use it….in front of people.”
Check.
“Now eat a peanut and drink some ginger ale. Try to get some rest. You look like hell and there are 8 people sitting on a boat in Sitka waiting to judge you.”
Okay.
Somewhere over the Inside Passage, the alcohol saturated fog that surrounded my brain began to lift and the ever so timid rays of Alaskan sunshine dancing in through the cabin windows started to feel less like sharp little ice picks stabbing the back of my skull. The plane landed without incident, and as I wrestling my oversized pack out of the overhead compartment, I sheepishly glanced around at my fellow passengers and felt an overwhelming sense of accomplishment and pride knowing that super-power-hangover-strength had been bestowed upon me, allowing me to overcome horrible suffering and physical agony, narrowly saving them all from inadvertently partaking in the worst hangover known to man. As I disembarked the plane, I paused, beaming with bride, and cast the most genuine smile I could muster up, I gazed at the nice old man standing behind me and whispered “you’re welcome.”
