True Story, I Shit You Not

About four years ago, while dating a friend of my sister's, partying was officially killed for me. It was a very abrupt and somewhat akward situation. What happened? Well, sit tight. If you're currently eating something, I suggest you put it aside for the duration of the story. The details can get a bit on the nauseating side. I'm warning you now.

Ok, still with us? Great. So as I said, this was four years ago, and dating a girl who's name I have already forgotten. "Merely a footnote in Jaime's long and storied love life" you must be thinking. Actually, I'm just not great with names. Moving on, a gathering had, for lack of better words, gathered at her parents' house. These parents were extremely cool with their daughter's partying habits. Heck, on occassion, they joined in. Never when I was around, but I had heard tall tales of a drunken bearded dad performing crazy and amusing stunts for her friends.

This particular night, they had turned in pretty early, and there was a group of no more than ten or so people there. The only reason I was there was 'cause I wanted to spend time with my then girlfriend. The night progresses without incident until this asian kid gets a hold of a bottle of Bacardi 151. Think about it, 151 proof rum + asian kid surely would not make a great combination. Someone tried to talk some sense into this guy, but he rationalized it by retelling an account in which he had drank a whole bottle of regular Bacardi rum in the span of a couple of hours. That, plus the fact that this guy was already half-wasted formed an incredible defense against logic. So, we couldn't persuade this guy from grabbing the 1/4 full bottle as he then proceeded to chug straight from the thing like he was a baby sucking on his mama's teat.

We shook our heads collectively, and left the guy alone. We figured that he would pass out eventually and he'd just have a really excruciating headache the next day. I lose track of him for the next hour or so, while the alcohol in my system makes me just that more gregarious and willing to interact with the party-goers. I'm normally reserved and don't cut loose unless I'm with people that have known me for a long time. But, I'm doing ok at this party. The consumption of alcohol is also having a different effect on me. I have to piss like a russian racehorse. I make my way to the bathroom, and try to open door, but to my surprise, something is blocking it.

I raise my voice a bit and ask "Hey, anyone in there?". A groan, and then nothing. I wonder who's in there, so I apply a little extra pressure to the the door and it starts opening. I notice that I am pushing someone's feet with the door. I finally get the door open enough so that I can survey the situation. What I see there is something that I really did not expect, and up until that point, had never seen.

It was the asian kid, kneeled in the "I just vomited position", but it would appear that prior to this, he had been sitting on the porcelain throne as his pants were around his knees. The smell hits my nostrils a second later, as I find out why this guy had his pants around his knees. There is a pool of liquified shit on the floor, and he's kneeling in it. My brain rushes to make sense of what was going on. I come up with the most rational explanation: he had been feeling sick, diarreah pains had made him rush to the toilet, where he sat down, then had the feeling to vomit and decided to do that first. After finishing that, he had intended to sit back down on the toilet, but had passed out instead. This led him, in that position, to crap all over the floor.

I close the door and rush to my then girlfriend. I say to her "I think there's something you should see" and pull her towards the bathroom. There, she notices her friend, passed out in a pool of his own shit. Looks like this guy had gotten off his kneeled position while I went to fetch her, and now was sitting in his own poop. We hoist up the kid, and get him out to the backporch, where a couple of people start to help him out of his shit covered clothing. At this point, I go into "Best Boyfriend Ever" mode, as I return to the bathroom with plastic bags on my hands and a fresh roll of paper towels . . . and actually clean up the bio-mess. I do this without any nausea (although I should have, I was somewhat intoxicated). If you are ever faced with the task of cleaning up anothers doo-doo, I suggest you don't breath through your nose. That, and pretend it's not actually rectum-chocolate shake. Once you get past the smell and the psychological hurdles, it's really easy.

So, at this point you might be saying "that was horrible", but it doesn't end there. You see, someone had to be with this guy while he took a shower to clean off the crap that had gotten on him. I didn't volunteer for this without any reservations. Yes, I was reluctant, but I was at this point, extremely sober, and the most logical choice to go in there with this moron. I turned on the shower for him, led him into the tub, pulled the curtain, and sat right outside making sure this idiot didn't slip and conk himself into a coma. After that, I helped him dry off while averting my eyes from his junk. We got him downstairs, lay him down on a couch after we dressed him in some of her dad's shorts and t-shirt. His shitty clothes were bagged and left out on the backporch. She covered him up with a blanket, and this guy went off to sleep.

But, my job was not over. Someone had to be there to make sure that halfway through the early morning hours, he didn't choke on a fresh batch of vomit. Guess who had the dubious honor. Yeah, if you guessed yours truly, then you get a cookie. I sat there, in an arm-chair next to the couch, reading a magazine and watching over this retard. I'm such a nice guy right? I didn't do it out of concern for him though. I did it because my then girlfriend was tired and wanted to go to sleep, and everyone else that was spending the night also wanted to go to sleep, so that left me as the defacto caretaker of this idiot. I did it. It wasn't fun, but someone had to do it.

The moral of the story, because there always is one . . . . If you're asian, and think you can handle your liquor, you can't. If I ever see an asian guy/girl pick up a bottle of 151 I will smack it out of their hand and tell him/her this story as a cautionary tale. Oh, and that girlfriend of mine, whatever happened to her you're asking. The bitch broke up with me a couple of weeks later. Something about not being ready for something serious. I had cleaned up shit for this girl, and this is what she tells me. Whatever. Women (except for you honey) are no damn good.

*Music I listened to while coming up with this entry:
Jenny - Stellastar
The Backseat - The Arcade Fire
Little House of Savages - The Walkmen
Rebel Rebel - Seu Jorge
Close Your Eyes - Bebel Gilberto
Auf Asche - Franz Ferdinand
Bossa Nova - Shivaree
Helicopter - Bloc Party
I Believe in Symmetry - Bright Eyes
Approaching Pavonis Mons By Balloon - The Flaming Lips
Don't Go Down - Elliot Smith
Jacqueline - Franz Ferdinand
Paul Newman's Eyes - Dogs Die In Hot Cars