One of the more bizarrre drink orders my ears have ever been privy to.
The thought of pineapple juice makes my toes curl - sickly sweet and syrupy. Yech. With beer? Although 'tis quite a girly drink so was probably for his girlfriend or mother maybe. Or elderly aunt.
'Tis funny though. The shift in drinking that occurs in ones life - as in consumption of alchohol. And attitudes towards it I meant to say, and of course, ones cultural background that largely contributes an attitude and value when it comes to consumption of alchohol.
Largely we spend our twenties drinking as much as possible for as little outlay as possible. The idea is to get as drunk as possible, as soon as, whilst taking great care to keep the costs well down.
In our thirties - or mine specifically - it seems the theme is more one of restraint. I prefer to pace myself so that I can keep it together for longer and still enjoy myself and with a stroke of luck - avoid the horror of the hangover the next day. Having one and being that was is a magnificently futile waste of a day. Weekends are so precious these days. So many things to achieve in such an eye-wateringly short space of time. As does the lack of sleep induced vague state of mind that one finds themselves in generally the following day.
Speaking of course from experience. Of course.
There is also the social out-fall and fall-out of drinking, and at times too much.
A young lady I met while out on a Friday had had too much - waay too much.
Emma. Attractive - bottle-blonde, wide brown eyes, prominent nose and well defined lips. Quite striking really. I'm not sure if she knew the people that she was with. Possibly not. We met her @ Loft Bar.
She introduced herself to (I'll call him Hamish) by way of grabbing his backside. He handled it rather well I thought. She said something to me, so I leaned over and said hi.
I guess having had at that stage a couple, I wasn't accurate in guaging just how much she'd had. Within minutes she was telling me how she'd lived all over the world as her father was in the 'millitary'. 'Cept in Australia we refer to it as the army or navy or simply just defence. Not millitary.
Then we got on to the topic of relationships. A favourite - strangely - of mine. (I know!). I told her I lived in Cammeray. She said she could see how unhappy I was about that. Possibly she had a vague point there. I am not unhappy in Cammeray. I love it there. It suits me fine. I have the worlds' best flatmate. I have a lovely little home to call my own. The only thing that gets me down the constant noise of the traffic. So maybe it flickered across my face, but only very briefly.
Susan and I were keen to move on and Emma had sort of attached herself to us, and seemed okay, so we made the decision to move on, two girls, two blokes plus one.
As soon as we got outside I realised my mistake. She was on the wrong side of trashed. Had possibly mixed her drinks as well. The way she leaped in to the middle of the road to flag a cab was a good indicator. The first two cabs went around us, flicking off their 'for hire' signs and accelerating in to the distance.
We had made arrangements with Susan, Luke and Hamish to meet at the bar at the Interconti (Intercontinental for the unsure). We were successful on our thrid try for a cab and the driver seemed nice in a grandfatherly sort of way. I chose to sit in the front, and opened the door for Emma to make certain she got in the back (well there was hardly room for her in the front WITH me).
He asked Emma to put her belt on - a fairly reasonable request given that it was the Friday night before a long weekend, and there had been the usual ad-campaign for the last fortnight about Police being out in force targeting drink-driving, speeding and seltbelt-wearing.
She arked up at this - telling us she was a 'pleece' officer and intermittently banging on his plastic screen.
I apologised for my friend. I tried to get her to calm down, but she seemed to have selective hearing at that point.
The cab-driver - potentially one of Sydney's best told me how he'd once carried a man down several flights of stairs on his own back, he'd fallen down and didn't get up again - and his friends were suspiciously unwilling to call an ambulance. Our cabbie had driven to St Vinnies and did not charge him - which sort of makes sense I suppose - how do you charge someone cabfare if they're unconscious?
We arrive at the inter-conti and head for the bar, the waitress approaches us and asks if we've been drinking today - it is THAT obvious. Choosing not to answer I ask her if there is a smoking section, in a snappy manner she replies that there isn't, only out the front on the street.
Emma, bless her clanky-clogs - has walked up to a group of suited corporates, just sitting around chatting at the end of a busy week and announces that we've just cut a $120Mil deal. As fucking if. I widen my eyes and apologise by mouthing 'sorry' at a safe distance and grab a table. I call Susan - it is with great relief that she says that they've arrived and are in the lobby. I grab Emma and head back out to the lobby. Emma is stumbling a little so I take her elbow and help her down the few stairs. We meet the others and I look up and out the doors to witness Emma giving parking directions to one of the valet guys.
Clearly not the night I had planned. Clearly.
Susan and I hang back a bit and plot an evil plan to rid ourselves of Emma The Female Blowfly. They cross the street ahead of us - and we hang back for a couple of changes of lights. Buggeration. She's waiting on the other side of the road with Hamish and Luke. Or rather waiting with Hamish but draped all over Luke.
While we're waiting (still waiting - always bloody waiting but that's a rant for another time) Emma makes an attempt to cross the road towards us - Luke grabs her arm and yanks her back on to the footpath just in time as a large speeding Sydney Bus whistles throught the intersection on a green light.
Could have been a bit of a messy way to finish the night. Nothing like witnessing a drunk blond being made in to mincemeat in front of you to pretty much ruin your night out - or the rest of ones' life (hers too) while we're here.
Near tragedy averted we continue on - the others - Susan, Luke and Hamish are ahead and I hang back with Emma. Again, helping her down a few flights of very old and very uneven sandstone stairs. She tries to shake me off and has started up her aggressive rant - this time directed at me.
'Nah, nah, I see what ya tryna do and I get it okay and I don't need you'.
What. Ever. The only thing I'm trynna do here is stop you from falling down stairs and breaking your stupid (and progressively red) neck.
We join the others, Luke gets the drinks in. There is a large group of people near us - they all seem to know eath other very well, present the point of the gathering becomes apparent as a birthday cake WITH candles is ferried out.
We join in the singing of Happy Birthday, clap and all manage to stop outselves at the exact moment that a lone reveller chants in '...for he's a jolly good fellow...'.
There is always one.
Luke directs his confronting line of questioning at Emma.
'So, Emma, why don't you tell us what it is that you do for a job'.
I meet Susan's eye and we smile at each other briefly. We were both taken aback that he asked us the same question so soon after meeting him. It's not that there is anything WRONG with the question. There isn't - the question is a fair enough 'getting to know you' question - but it's so damned obvious that's all. It's predictable, and boring and nosey - most of us in this age group know who gets paid for what work, so it's a bit rude from that perspective.
I prefer to ask someone how their week has been - it's a much more genuine, less-invasive question. I am always genuinely interested in people. There is an art to conversation and there is definitely an art to starting one.
However, neither Susan, Luke or Hamish were prepared for Emma's response:
'I'm the sales director for a media company, a firefighter, a pleeceman and I'm a vet nurse for my brothers' vetinary clinic'.
Wow.
Susan let out one of her classic giggles.
Emma (naturally) went in for the kill.
'It's bitches like you I can't fucking stan.. You think your so fucking hot you stuck up cow and your not and thas coming from me'.
Good. Cause it would hardly be coming from me, or Luke or Hamish.
I should have known better. I should never have been okay with this twit tagging along.
I grabbed her elbow again, gently but decisively.
'Hey, do you need me to see you to a cab?'
'Nup'. She says.
I'm thinking - you know what? She might be drunk, and completely stupid and out on her own and as much as I don't like leaving other women like this - I think it might be for the best. She is going to get more aggressive. We're having cocktails at the next place and - after all - this was mine and Susans' night out. We'd planned to hook up with Luke and Hamish - not in that sense - but they were in town overnight, and a friend of a friend of Susans' and we were showing them around. Tour de Bars and all that.
By the time I turn around with a 'what on earth' expression Emma has moved on to the next crowd of hapless drunks and we move on.
I still wonder about her from time to time. I didn't want to watch the news for the next few days - fearful that I might read of a blonde meeting an untimely death.
Susan has told me more than a few times - you're always looking out for other people - who looks out for you?
I wonder if Emma has since given any thought to her behaviour? Did she wake up and wince privately to herself in the morning? Cause we've all been there, and alchohol is mostly the reason, the culprit, the scapegoat and the dickhead.
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