Drinking game ends in demolition
1st Post, be gentle, etc.

Casting my mind back to freshers week of my 1st year of university, the year was 1998 and I was a typical long haired metaller. I was not uninitiated in the ways of beer but new to drinking games. The hall bar had set up a circle of chairs on the stage, with a large black plastic bin in the middle for the purpose of having people play drinking games as a spectator sport. The bin was for when someone inevitably puked. There was some form of prize involved for the last man standing. A few of the people I would soon call friends, myself and some others from our hall went on stage to play.

~~~ wavey lines to mark passage of time ~~~

I was drunk, very drunk and not feeling good. The drinking game was going on around me still but I had little idea what was happening. It was like I was watching it though a wall of water. Then I had that spinning feeling in my stomach that I had come to know would mean I was soon going to be sick. I had a particularly useful ability to projectile vomit when I was sick. I developed this ability to get the nasty process over with quickly and avoid getting it in my hair or on my clothes. I stood up suddenly, and as described by my friend Sam who was also playing the drinking game, produced a very sudden and perfect pressure hose like blast of vomit into the bin. Staggering somewhat, I left the stage, feeling a little better to head to the toilets. Now the journey involved a short walk, where I paused occasionally as my vision swam around, I headed out the bar and into the hall. The toilets where at the bottom of a short flight of wooden stairs.

Suddenly, my vision zoomed in on the bottom of the stairs then snapped back to it's usual state like a cheap effect from a late night B movie. My head swam and my stomach didn't like it one bit. A second blast of hose powered vomit left my body and spread itself down the stairs. I felt better, a lot better, sober even. The stairs, I suspect felt otherwise. Luckily, the bar manager had followed me out as I looked particularly bad and handed me a mop and bucket to clean the stairs. They always had one on standby when doing drinking games. I did a reasonable job of cleaning and then wobbled my way back to my bed.

A couple of days later at breakfast the bar manager approaches me and informs me that the morning after my redocoration of the stairs building inspectors were due in. They mistook the odd smell of the stairs for the wood rotting and ordered them to be ripped out and rebuilt. I was personally responsible for costing the hall of residence one flight of stairs, luckily, the bar manager was also a student and thought it was funny, so he didn't tell anyone. :) I went on to work behind the bar.

Length? About 15 steps.
(Wheeljack, Wed 13 Jan 2010, 17:49, Reply)