Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Snowglobed

It was the New Year by now, Jim imagined.

Time slows down in the cold, and when you lose track and can’t access the $75 a month clock/alarm that makes calls, but you don’t make any, and receives calls, but you don’t get any, time goes a lot slower. His eyes seemingly bugging out of his noggin, tears freezing down his cheek…luckily, a bubble, he remembered, would help him breathe.

He just went out for one more run before finalizing the d├ęcor of the party and joining his friends. A quick one, to pick up a little adrenaline he calls his ‘energy drink’. ‘Peace out’ to the pals he shouts and he’s gone. How quickly a wrong turn changes a night. You see, it all fell apart right here.

The type of friends Jim has? They’re great. Love to party. Best dudes. From college they never stopped the party, jumping from one reason to another to destroy what they’ve all saved up since college to call their homes. On rotation this New Year? Jim ‘Beam’ Bauman. As you presumably derived, Jim rocks the whiskey…and its what will save his life that night.

The unfortunate side affect of having friends whose M.O. it is to party (hardy), is that friendship comes second to ice luge, beirut, flip cup and pound the tequila. The last one they made up sophomore year of college. Ingenious really. You see the rules are; Pound the tequila till you throw up, and if you throw up in the bottle, your punishment is to bring the bottle to every party thereafter and take shots from it until the bottle is done. Torture, humiliation, hilarity.

It wasn’t until about 2am into the new year when Tom, the adult(erer) of the group, stumbling around his mouth with his tongue somehow managing to ask “Heyg…you guys…where’s Jims? He’s supposed to come overg right?! Where even is he, right??!

Jim’s legs stopped shaking by this point, the cold coming through his boots has started feeling warm. He thinks this is a good sign. When he breaks it all down, its really not likely anyone is going to come find him, so he waits. Could he access his phone, its not even likely he can tell anyone where he is. Not only has the cold started clouding his vision, but the whiskey he’s been nursing out of his trusty extra large flask has his tongue as stumbly as Tommy back at the top.

Tom the Adulterer, the eldest of the pals, got his name from trying aggressively to sleep with all the guy’s girlfriends throughout their relationships. He had a 46% success rate once the relationships ended, and a 2.33% (repeating, of course) success rate while they were still in full swing. Tom’s an asshole, but they keep him around. Why? He’s great, loves to party, best dude.

Marky, the benevolent drunk, reminds Tom that they are currently IN Jim’s condo, so yah, he was sort of supposed to make an appearance, and finishes his statement with ‘idiot’. They pour, they cheers, they shoot, they repeat. Marky, its important to know, still carries around his slightly discolored bottle of Cuervo gold from 2007. Its like a loan you can’t wait to pay back. Only six more payments! Only six more parties! At least that’s how many Marky thinks it’ll take to finally be through with his ‘pound the tequila’ punishment. Then he’ll retire (no he won’t).

Jim worries now. It feels like days! He’s exaggerating. Wondering if he should piss where he is or hold it till he can find somewhere less gross…which might not be for a while. He pisses. At least its warm. Knowing the type of guys he surrounds himself with, selfish, inconsiderate, unfaithful…he feels a sort of, well, DOOM. In his mind he’s envisioning a wild party back at his condo with one of his friends in their underwear, at least one, maybe two broken lamps, and empties strewn about the bathtub. This ritual, with likeness to the ball pit at Chuck E. Cheese, is called the beer pit. Yes, that man in his underwear will end up in the beer pit, and most likely come out with at least one bad cut and will proceed to ruin Jim’s white towels. Jim doesn’t see them noticing he’s gone, which means a search party won’t come, but at least he’s laughing at the events to be. They’re great. Love to party. Best dudes.

Back at the party, Brendo, in his underwear, is about to sit his fat ass in the beer pit. He will slip, glass will break, he will need to go to the hospital, the crowd will eat it up. Marky will ask, “was it worth it” and Brendo passing out from shock will say, “it was worth it”.

Jim hears sirens in the distance. He jams his empty flask into the roof above to break through and give whatever signal he can. “NO WAY, They fucking called a search party for me!” No they didn’t. Brendo is bleeding way too much for all of Jim’s white towels to handle so those are medics, and Jim is still fucked. As the sound fades he shouts, “One last run. One last run before the party and now I am going to die in an igloo. I’m a fucking figurine in a snow globe. Happy 2010…I’m getting new friends!”

As Jim rants, so far, he’s only heard the sound of his own voice echoing off the confined walls of his tomb. His voice trails off as he hears the sound of footsteps. Imaginary or not, his flask disappears revealing a blinding beam of light. Either God finally popped the cork and he’s on his way to heaven (somehow, rather than hell), or that’s the greedy hand of Bub, the freeloading borrower of things never to be returned, trying to skeef Jim’s flask. Bub shouts out, “this is Jim’s flask, but its empty. Greedy fucker leaves a clue, but no reward”.

The guys, after seeing Brendo into an ambulance safely, decided to go out on Jim’s ‘energy drink’ run to see if something might have gone wrong. Equipped with the proper tools and several one million candle power flashlights, they went into the night. Turns out, the flask reflected all one million candles perfectly back into Bubs eyes.

After digging Jim out and laughing at him for smelling like piss and whiskey, they share a round hugs, happy new years’ and shots of wild turkey they took from Jim’s liquor cabinet. As they make their way back to the condo. Tom announces to Jim he’s sorry. He put the moves on Jim’s girlfriend, but not to get mad at her, in her defense she was, and still is passed out in Jim’s bed. If Jim wasn’t so frozen solid, Tom would be joining Brendo in the E.R. In the time it takes to get back, it’ll blow over. Tom’s great, they love to party and together they are the best dudes.

To celebrate, they play a game of pound the tequila. Marky will lose. Poor guy.

- Seven-Butter