For a Friday night, I was really taking it easy. We had the Uni Ball the next night and I knew that would be a long night, so I was chilling out watching the Olympics. The rest of the crew was going out for a beer at the local pub London Tavern down the street and for the sake of nothing better to do, I joined them. Brooks and I grabbed a seat in front of one of the TV’s to watch the dream team dominate Argentina. I was about half way through my Cooper’s, which is a delicious beer, when out of nowhere, I got shoved up against the wall and spilled my beer all over my dockers. No worries though, I was wearing protection, my stain defender pants. As for the half empty beer in my left hand, big problem. I got pissed. It was pretty dark in there and I was looking around for the culprit when I heard, “What the @#% are you looking at?” I looked down and saw this fat guy, about 5’4”, completely decked out. He looked like a tool. He was wearing a white and red Dale Earnhardt Jr. racing jacket, black pants, and all white shoes and he reeked of alcohol. Once I got my bearings, I realized by his physical features and his accent, that he was an aborigine, and for some reason he was super pissed.
Brooks stepped in and said, “Relax man, we are just watching the dream team”. This guy was not convinced. He looked at Brooks, told him to go “do you know what” to himself, looked at me and said, “I know you have been watching me all night you racist pig, go @#$% yourself”. He then spit on my shoe. My new shoes. My new shoes that I have grown quite fond of. According to my buddy Joe, spitting on someone is second to whiping a booger on the face when it comes to “Best ways to start a fight”. He is right because I lost control of my emotions for a second, which I rarely do, and stepped in and gave him a little shove. Taking into account the adrenaline and beer, it was quite a bit more than a little shove and several seconds later, after watching this guy do some very interesting acrobatics as he went over a table and some chairs, he ended up about twenty feet away, face down on the floor with his ass sticking up in the air. The fact that he was about 5’4” and built like a bowling ball only added to his momentum as his tumbled from one side of the room to the other. As an innocent bystander, I can imagine that watching this whole scene unfold would have been pretty entertaining.
He got up, started heading my way, and for a few seconds I thought “great, I am fixing to get in a tussle with a short, fat, drunk aborigine. This is gonna be interesting”. He covered about half the distance between us, turned towards the door and tried to spit on me at the same time. He ended up spitting on himself which is kinda funny. I told him to have a nice day, he gave me the finger, and that was that.
The average American college student probably doesn’t come across this kind of situation to often. I wouldn’t necessarily say that I am privileged to have had such an encounter, but it was a new experience. Just one more to add to the list of Allen Brown’s adventures in Australia.
Thinking Drinking Man Lessons
1. When going out on the town, always wear protection - stain defender pants.
Showing posts with label Coopers Ale. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Coopers Ale. Show all posts
Sunday, June 7, 2009
The Thinking Drinking Man Goes Skydiving
I have never been skydiving before. And since arriving in Australia, I was quickly scribbling through my list of "Things I've Never Done Before". What better a place to loose my skydiving virginity than Cairnes Australia. After I put down my deposit at the Tandem Cairnes office, I figured it was time to celebrate my new found sense of adventure, so I went out.
I was rudely awakened the following morning by Gloria, the live-in landlord from hell for Caravella Backpackers Hostel barking on the loudpseaker about someone leaving dirty dishes in the kitchen. I hoped down from my top bunk, landed on an pair of soccer cleats. Who the hell brings soccer cleats to the beach, and made my way outside to be greated by blinding sunshine and the realization that I was hungover. I headed towards the Mud Cafe next door and got my usual bacon and egg toastee with a strawberry milkshake. The bus picked me up at 10:00 am on the dot and after a two hour bus ride that seemed instantaneous cause I was passed out, I locked eyes with a very odd looking Asian man starring at me through the glass from outside the bus. He motioned to me to come inside so I grabbed my stuff and hoped off the bus. As I sat there in the pounding sun, cursing mankind for creating a beer as delicious as Cooper's Ale, Tuts, the "interestingly configured" Malaysian I saw earlier, who happened to by my tandem guide told me we had 22 minutes till we got on the plane. Then it finally hit me. I may possibly have only 22 minutes left on planet earth because I will soon be jumping out a plane at 14,000 feet with a complete stranger strapped to my back. FML. I quickly got up, did a few quick spins to get my bearings, and sprinted into the house. What was I doing? I am the Thinking Drinking Man, and I sure as hell am going to make the best of possibly my last 22 minutes on earth. A few minutes later Tuts walked in and I am guessing he told me it was time to go. He gave me the thumbs up, I belched, stepped over the three beers I found in the fridge, and marched towards the plane.
Let’s just say the plane was a lot smaller than I expected. It was a white and orange single engine Cessna 150 and it was about the size of my car. I would not feel comfortable 14,000 ft in the air in something the size of my car. I asked Tuts if the plane could make it to 14,000 ft, and he responded in broken English, “Yeah, but probably no higher”. Comforting.
As we ascended, the beer started to kick in and I became my usual inquisative self. I started taking note of my surroundings, and only then did I realize that Tuts was about the size of a small child. I am 6'3, 210 pounds. A small child, even a fat one, wouldn't be a third my size. Is this actually going to work? I started grilling Tuts, only to be answered in broken English that he was a pizza man three weeks ago. Before I could truly freak out and start going crazy, I heard the door swing up and before I could blink, my legs were hanging over the side of the plane with 14,000 feet of nothing between me and some really hard dirt. Tuts said something along the lines of "eh, uh, oh", which I later realized was "one, two, three", and within seconds I was flying through the air at 130 mphs strapped to a poor english speaking Malaysian wondering if he could even see the ground considering his head came up to me lower back. I better not fart or he may very well may pass out and then I would really be screwed.
Once I actually calmed down, I realized how amazing the view was. I had the Great Barrier Reef to my right and a tropical rain forest to my left. This is pretty awesome. But sadly, the feeling was quickly gone because seconds later we opened our shoot and I suddenly realized that the beers I pounded before I got on the plane was not my greatest idea. Tuts had use swirling in all directions and before I could yell at him to cut it out, I had Coppers coming out of my mouth and nose. Because of our speed, the barf was streaking down my face, over my shoulders, and onto Tuts' face, who instantly got really pissed that I had thrown up on him. Tuts unhooked me the second we landed and I did a few graceful barrel rolls across the grass and ended up face down some sand. I waited a few minutes before trying to move in hopes of convincing my fellow onlookers that I in fact was a bad ass and skydiving was a piece of cake. But before I could muster any strength, I was lifted up up by what appeared to be the Asian version of Frodo. I was still dizzy and very disoriented and by the time I came to, I saw Tuts in front of me flaring his arms and pointing to the bark all over his shirt. I gave him a quick head rub and a pat on the back and made my way to the van. Minutes later I was replenishing the Cooper's I had so easily given up a few minutes earlier at about 3,500 feet. Today was an awesome day.
If any of you'll plan on going skydiving in the near future, the Thinking Drinking Man has a few pointers for you.
1. Try to avoid getting drunk the night before.
2. Do not pound a few beers right before getting on the plane.
3. Make sure you have a cooler full of ice cold bruskies waiting on you the second you land.
I was rudely awakened the following morning by Gloria, the live-in landlord from hell for Caravella Backpackers Hostel barking on the loudpseaker about someone leaving dirty dishes in the kitchen. I hoped down from my top bunk, landed on an pair of soccer cleats. Who the hell brings soccer cleats to the beach, and made my way outside to be greated by blinding sunshine and the realization that I was hungover. I headed towards the Mud Cafe next door and got my usual bacon and egg toastee with a strawberry milkshake. The bus picked me up at 10:00 am on the dot and after a two hour bus ride that seemed instantaneous cause I was passed out, I locked eyes with a very odd looking Asian man starring at me through the glass from outside the bus. He motioned to me to come inside so I grabbed my stuff and hoped off the bus. As I sat there in the pounding sun, cursing mankind for creating a beer as delicious as Cooper's Ale, Tuts, the "interestingly configured" Malaysian I saw earlier, who happened to by my tandem guide told me we had 22 minutes till we got on the plane. Then it finally hit me. I may possibly have only 22 minutes left on planet earth because I will soon be jumping out a plane at 14,000 feet with a complete stranger strapped to my back. FML. I quickly got up, did a few quick spins to get my bearings, and sprinted into the house. What was I doing? I am the Thinking Drinking Man, and I sure as hell am going to make the best of possibly my last 22 minutes on earth. A few minutes later Tuts walked in and I am guessing he told me it was time to go. He gave me the thumbs up, I belched, stepped over the three beers I found in the fridge, and marched towards the plane.
Let’s just say the plane was a lot smaller than I expected. It was a white and orange single engine Cessna 150 and it was about the size of my car. I would not feel comfortable 14,000 ft in the air in something the size of my car. I asked Tuts if the plane could make it to 14,000 ft, and he responded in broken English, “Yeah, but probably no higher”. Comforting.
As we ascended, the beer started to kick in and I became my usual inquisative self. I started taking note of my surroundings, and only then did I realize that Tuts was about the size of a small child. I am 6'3, 210 pounds. A small child, even a fat one, wouldn't be a third my size. Is this actually going to work? I started grilling Tuts, only to be answered in broken English that he was a pizza man three weeks ago. Before I could truly freak out and start going crazy, I heard the door swing up and before I could blink, my legs were hanging over the side of the plane with 14,000 feet of nothing between me and some really hard dirt. Tuts said something along the lines of "eh, uh, oh", which I later realized was "one, two, three", and within seconds I was flying through the air at 130 mphs strapped to a poor english speaking Malaysian wondering if he could even see the ground considering his head came up to me lower back. I better not fart or he may very well may pass out and then I would really be screwed.
Once I actually calmed down, I realized how amazing the view was. I had the Great Barrier Reef to my right and a tropical rain forest to my left. This is pretty awesome. But sadly, the feeling was quickly gone because seconds later we opened our shoot and I suddenly realized that the beers I pounded before I got on the plane was not my greatest idea. Tuts had use swirling in all directions and before I could yell at him to cut it out, I had Coppers coming out of my mouth and nose. Because of our speed, the barf was streaking down my face, over my shoulders, and onto Tuts' face, who instantly got really pissed that I had thrown up on him. Tuts unhooked me the second we landed and I did a few graceful barrel rolls across the grass and ended up face down some sand. I waited a few minutes before trying to move in hopes of convincing my fellow onlookers that I in fact was a bad ass and skydiving was a piece of cake. But before I could muster any strength, I was lifted up up by what appeared to be the Asian version of Frodo. I was still dizzy and very disoriented and by the time I came to, I saw Tuts in front of me flaring his arms and pointing to the bark all over his shirt. I gave him a quick head rub and a pat on the back and made my way to the van. Minutes later I was replenishing the Cooper's I had so easily given up a few minutes earlier at about 3,500 feet. Today was an awesome day.
If any of you'll plan on going skydiving in the near future, the Thinking Drinking Man has a few pointers for you.
1. Try to avoid getting drunk the night before.
2. Do not pound a few beers right before getting on the plane.
3. Make sure you have a cooler full of ice cold bruskies waiting on you the second you land.
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