It was a shitty Thursday morning around 10:00am when I walked into the liquor store, giving the owner some sort of handshake/high five combo as he unlocked the doors. Bright-eyed and looking forward to the excessive amount of drinking that was about to take place, I had no idea I was about to face the devil and his green fairy.
A buddy of mine was in town for the festivities, and decided we should give absinthe a whirl, as neither of us had tried it. Far overpriced, we managed to haggle it down $10 bucks since we were spending over $100 that morning. Yes, I know I’m a cheapskate, but Chili’s only pays me so much.
We quickly rushed home and poured ourselves shots. The color, for those who have never seen absinthe, resembles that of the wildfire in HBO’s series Game of Thrones. Reluctantly, we swallowed the green licorice. After sending out a few texts and another two shots, we found out there were more cops than people out, so we headed to the local pizza shack for a few pitchers and breakfast, after filling a couple flasks with green piss.
I was on Xanax that day, and had a really bad experience at an event freshman year under similar circumstances, so I made sure to keep a slow and steady pace. Day drinking is a marathon, not a sprint. My friend, on the other hand, said fuck it and left the establishment well beyond the legal limit. It should be noted that this stuff is 110 proof, if memory serves, so it gets you fucked up and fucked up fast.
From there, we parted ways so he could go bend over some sorority girl he knew in the alley, after he took another three shot pull. By that time I was starting to see shit. It was only mild, but I knew I couldn’t be driving much longer, so I headed over to the slampiece’s apartment and drank with her and her friends.
By the time I got there, I couldn’t tell if I was driving on concrete or water. The next two hours were a blur of green flames, people dancing, and an identity crisis revolving around whether I was human or dancer. Then, the green fairy emerged.
According to untrustworthy sources, there was a hookah and I was trying to use my smoke as paint and the hose as my brush. Again, I was higher than a stoner on 4/20. It slowly turned into a bad high as the flames began laughing at me with little men dancing on my face. I ended up texting my friend, seeing if he was seeing shit through his liquor goggles, but apparently other people don’t text during sex.
About an hour later, I got a text that I’ve translated to “Come pick me up, I’m drunk as fuck and this absinthe did nothing but give me whiskey dick.” By the time we got to him, he was experiencing what I did my freshman year, a 4-person carry out.
My friend was passed out by 5 o’clock, and never even danced with the green fairy, but I had survived my time with the winged bitch. Work at Chili’s the next day was brutal.