water and fire

Water and Fire
After singing happy birthday, munching on chocolates and little cookies with frosting, the tidal wave was introduced to France at Shakespeare’s British pub last night. The Brits who were there LOVED it. I recall the phrase ‘brilliant’ being thrown out quite a bit. Somehow the bartender spread the word to the other patrons as to what was afoot, so as the glass of water was being poured, everyone else casually stopped what they were doing and watched, trying not to be too obvious. Poor Chris was the only one unaware. The bar tender refused to be the one who threw the water and left that up to us. Wimp. I felt a bit bad, so I lobbed my water more than threw it as the rest of the bar erupted in cheers. Jill didn’t seem to have this problem, and got him in the face.

Natalie suggested next time we pull the Hurricane Katrina, which is the tidal wave quickly followed by a slap in the face.

Hurricane Katrina. Get it?

However, at the following bar the tables were turned and the joke was on me.

At the Vodka Bar, (three guesses as to what they serve) the birthday boy and girl got celebratory drinks and seeing that they were only two euros a piece, Mark and I decided to join in. At random Mark chose one off the menu, the Chernobyl. It sounded like a good idea at the time, I just figured it was strong and/or nasty gutter vodka. False.
All of the shooters at bars here come premixed so you do not know what is in them unless you ask/ there is a description somewhere. Not wanting to make the others wait, we skipped this precaution and plowed full steam ahead. Mistake numbero uno. The bar tender poured us our shooters, and being a dark bar, the only thing I noticed in my glass was a deep red color. After cheersing to the birthdays and what not, I threw mine down the hatch. My second and fatal mistake.

Immediately I noticed chunks in my mouth. Chunks where they were not expected and where chunks should never, ever be. My brain knew something was not right, but it was too late to stop my throat, the swallowing sequence was already set in motion. My mouth then went into meltdown.

It was as if I had been suckling on the teat of Satan himself. I believe a thick string of curses were uttered as the glass was slammed on the bar, quickly followed by me stomping into a corner where I trying to calm my stomach which, along with the rest of me, was not expecting this surprise and looking get rid of the Chernobyl the same way it came in. After settling myself and turning around, the French kids at the bar, who were my age and apparently knew what the Chernobyl entailed, were happy to see someone brave (stupid) enough to give it a go. It was at this moment I realized fate has a sense of humor and maybe the Hindu’s are on to something with the whole karma fixation.

Those chunks I felt? Oh, I think they are best described as what you find at the bottom of a jar of hot sauce. Not those wimpy sauces they have at Taco Bell no no dear reader. They were more inline with the ones you’ll find at the bottom of the really really spicy ones lined up on the wall of California Tortilla. I think the seeds and dregs in an almost empty jar of ‘Dave’s Rectal Rocket Sauce’ would best fit the bill.

Chernobyl. Get it?

Vodka Bar: 1 Jamie: 0