On Saturday, I attended the Bend Brewfest. It’s a three-day event featuring more than 80 fine beers from craft breweries across the region.
In other words, a great place to get sloshed.
Not that this was my goal. While it’s true I enjoyed my share of delectable adult beverages, I always find it more entertaining to watch other people get hammered.
I hadn’t been there more than twenty minutes when I found myself ravenously hungry. I wandered over to the food court and selected a tasty gourmet sausage made with curry and lemongrass. They served it to me on a stick, so I carried my treat back to the common area to search for my friends.
Within seconds, a strange man in a stained blue t-shirt staggered up with a glazed expression and a mug he struggled to hold upright.
“You know you’re driving every guy here totally crazy,” he slurred.
I looked behind him to see if there was an angry mob forming. I didn’t see one, nor could I recall having done anything to impact the gentleman’s sanity.
I looked back at him. “Come again?”
He closed his eyes and groaned. “Yeah.”
He opened his eyes and nodded at my snack. “You with that sausage. You’re so f**king hot.”
It finally occurred to me what he was getting at, and I tried to discretely wipe sausage juice off my hand to avoid additional comment.
“Sure,” I said as I backed away. “I’m sure it’s especially hot the way I just bit the end off and chewed it into a million little pieces.”
He laughed like that was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. Then he fell over in the grass.
I continued on with my evening, consuming a whole lot of good food and beer and watching as everyone began looking a lot more glassy-eyed. I excused myself at one point to visit the porta-potties. After making use of the facilities, I emerged to discover the hand-washing station had run out of water and paper towels.
Naturally, I didn’t discover this until after I’d soaped up my hands.
A guy beside me made the same discovery, and looked at me with a tipsy grin. He held up his hands for my inspection. “Can I dry them on your shirt?”
“No thanks,” I replied as I focused on pumping a few meager tablespoons of water from the portable sink.
Undeterred, the guy grinned wider. “You want to dry your hands on my pants?”
And just in case I hadn’t understood the offer, he thrust his pelvis at me.
“That’s very kind of you,” I said, backing away. “How about you wipe your hands on your own pants?”
He looked down, probably assessing whether that was an acceptable substitution. “Hey, my fly’s down.”
“Yes, it is,” I agreed. “I hear that’s what all the ladies find charming.”
“No shit?”
I wandered away and returned to my evening of excellent beer and food. Still, none of it impressed me quite as much as the creativity of those alcohol-saturated Romeos. Though I doubt either gentleman remembers his romantic gesture, they can rest assured I do.
What’s the funniest thing you’ve ever heard a drunk person say? For that matter, has someone ever informed you of some pearl of wisdom you’ve offered up after a few too many? Please share.
I’ll be over here deciding whether my dinner sausage would be best accompanied by Pumpkin Ale or Pineapple Wheat Beer.
9 comments :
Thank you for making me laugh out loud this morning! I can't remember the funniest thing a drunk person has ever said to me (which ... sounds terrible). Anyway, as soon as you mentioned a brew fest, I started thinking I'd like to go to one this fall. I love good beer. The drunken stupidity, however, I could do without. Does this happen at wine tastings?
If nothing else, it sounds pretty flattering ;-)
ROFL - ah yes, alcohol and testosterone. Such a beautiful combination.
Guy approaches me from behind and whispers (or so he thought) in my ear. "Do you have any Indian in you?"
Puzzled, since I have blonde hair and blue eyes, I said, "No, why?"
He tries to steady himself on the chair next to me and asks, "Do you want any?"
Sadly, it made me laugh. But I was brought up by a pack of wolves, so go figure.
Sadly my drunken Lotharios' are not so creative.
The drunken moment that haunts me the most came when I was drinking fuzzy navels. To this day DH calls them Fuzzy Nipples after my verbal slip. The appeal of the drink has worn off with it's new moniker. :P
I knew you were asking for harassment with your big old sausage on a stick. Personally I've had similar comments made about a corn dog. WHAT is so attractive about a woman actually chewing and swallowing and digesting a vaguely phallic comestible? I always assumed that chewing was frowned upon...
I can't imagine anyone would get drunk in public. You know I am opposed to that sort of thing.
At a bluesfest a few weeks ago, a guy staggered over to my table and half-sprawled across it.
Him: "I'm lookin' fur my friendsh. Have you seen 'em?"
Me: "Try the beer tent." (It seemed like a logical assumption.)
Him: "Don' think so. But I can't 'member what they look like. 'Cause they're with thish girl, see, but I wasn't lookin' at her 'cause I gotta girlfriend so I'm not lookin', see?"
Me: *facepalm*
Drunk people are funny. :) Since college I haven't spent much time around them at all, nor have I been one myself since then (though those years at UOregon...). Then again it was only... Wait. Crap. I graduated 12 years ago. Now I feel old.
I need beer.
I'm going to tell you something most of you won't believe. I live in a place where you can't buy alcohol. I kid you not. It's called a dry county.
As a result I haven't had a lot to drink or been around many drunks since moving here in 2003.
Of course one of these days I'll figure out where those guys making moonshine hide out and then I'll have a story to tell, for sure.
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