The Cancun Chronicles II

After a full week of complete and utter disregard for our personal health, questionable hygiene and the never-ending battle with the locals and their need to be tipped for simply letting us breathe, our trip was coming to an end. It was the last day of freedom and we were all pretty wrecked so we just lounged around the beach/pool, taking it easy and avoiding getting hammered since we had to be up pretty early to catch our bus to the airport the next morning. We had a nice supper, with limited beer, followed by casual drinks at the Sports Bar in the evening. Everything was going well, no one was drunk, it looked like we may actually have pulled off our plan of intermediate sobriety. Then, for reasons that remain unclear to me, I made an abrupt u-turn in any logical thought and began a torrid drinking pace which ended poorly for everyone involved.
 
As I mentioned, we went through the motions of avoiding the sauce in order to be in pristine shape to catch our bus/flight. At around 9 pm, I abandoned the plan and began guzzling like the village wino with this guy from Hamilton, Ontario. Now, this guy was awesome but also a terrible drunk. A few nights earlier we had seen him roaming the halls weeping openly because he had lost a child he was entrusted to watch over for a few hours. He was sure the child had vanished but it turns out the kid was sitting on the opposite side of a half wall, to his immediate right, pretty much in his line vision. Anyway, you get the point. So I set up shop with Hamilton and we shot the shit as we pummeled drinks. He was in worse shape than I was since he had to be out of the hotel by 6am but he didn't seem to care as we told each other stories from our backgrounds.
 
As time went on, all my friends eventually went to bed and told me I should do the same. Nonsense! I'll be fine you fools. We stayed at the bar until midnight, which is when it shut down for the night. We were both primed and ready to hit the bottle for at least another few hours but the bar was now closed. The only thing those grinning bastards at the bar sold were stale fries. Then it struck me! I had a bottle of Bailey's and a bottle of red wine in my room. Hamilton countered with a bottle of white wine and a bottle of Tequila. Sweet Jesus, Mary and Joseph we had ourselves some drinkin' to do. We sprinted up to our rooms, grabbed our bottles, ran back down to the bar, bought some ice from those rat-bastard barkeeps and began swilling our drinks with new found vigor.
 
Somewhere between the Bailey's and the Tequila, a school (literally) of male and female students from Argentina herded into the empty bar. It was an influx of madness. They were getting ready to go out and party so they were pretty much acting like excited teenagers, which I was able to tolerate due to my degenerative state at the time. Next to us sat a table of about 10 girls who seemed to be under the impression they were classier than their classmates since they weren't bouncing around like retards. And because they were drinking a bottle of red wine. This was important to us because we also had wine, but nothing to open the bottles with. The barkeeps were human wastelands and pretended they didn't know what we were talking about when we asked them to open our bottles by making confusing hand motions. These little harlots were our key to opening our bottles without having to smash them on the ground and lap up the sauce like mangy dogs.
 
Hamilton decided he could charm them into lending us their opener but he was sorely mistaken. I don't know what the fuck he told them but the looks he was getting from every girl at that table were horrifying. I might've killed myself if a group of attractive women glared at me like that. Even in the worse case scenarios, you could always find a sympathizer in a crowd like this but they straight up hated him! He came back to my table grinning like a jackass. I was less than thrilled since I had two bottles of wine I could not open. That was it. I had had enough. If you want something done right then you have to do it yourself. I got up and made my way over to the group of Argentineans. I said hello, introduced myself and asked if I could have a seat with them. My request was promptly met with dirty looks and aggressive comments amongst themselves. Great. They hated me because I was associated with that bumbling putz slumped over at my table. Now how the fuck am I going to open these bottles.
 
After speaking to them in broken Spanish and always looking them in the eye (never down their shirts), they decided I was harmless and let me sit with them. Half the battle was won! Now to simply use their opener without them thinking they were entitled to have some of my wine. I’d feel like an asshole and probably be treated like one if I just used it and ran off. Hamilton was smashing his glass on the table behind me, speaking loudly and being generally offensive as I tried talking to these women without giving them the impression I was using them. See, I can be sensitive to a woman’s feelings. Finally, by sheer luck, they all decided they wanted to go dancing. I declined their invitations but made a small request if I could just borrow their bottle opener before they left. Of course I could! And just like that we were back in business.
 
At this point MCF had made his way over to us and Hamilton was at the end of his rope. He had to be up in 4 hours and he was piss drunk. He took off with the remnants of his Tequila as MCF and I sat at the bar and talked about old girlfriends and other touching subjects. I'm pretty sure I said some incredibly gay shit to him but he's been kind enough never to bring it up or repeat it to date. We drank until about 3:30 and then decided it was time for bed. I was very drunk and only at that point, at 3:45 am, did I realize what I had done. How the fuck was I going to wake up in time for our flight? I was beyond drunk and pulling an all nighter would be dangerous, especially since I was alone. What could I do? The only thing I could think of was forcing myself to puke. The more booze I could get out, the better I'd be. So off I went to our bathroom, went right up to the Ukraine's sink (we each had our own, yes I'm an asshole) and unleashed the beast. I was so loud, the Ukraine ran in and demanded to know what the fuck I was doing at 4 in the morning. Once he saw what I had done, he cursed to himself and went back to bed. I soon followed.
 
As you might've imagined, waking up fucking sucked. I made it to the shuttle, still wasted, dressed in what I had worn the previous night (wine stains and all) and proceeded to be loud and obnoxious on the way to the airport as strangers glared at me and muttered to themselves. By the grace of some divine being, I cleared customs, got on the plane and felt as if I had just gotten away with a crime. I immediately passed out in my seat. About 20 minutes later I was awakened by a stewardess poking me, trying to wake me up. Oh my God, she knows! They were going to kick me off the flight for being hammered. Son of a bitch bastard, I'm doomed! Completely overcome with fear, I managed to croak out a "what"? Turns out she wanted to move me because there was a baby next to me and they wanted to accommodate the parents with an extra seat. I would have agreed to anything at that point just to stay on the plane. They moved me up a few seats where I immediately went back to sleep for the rest of the flight.
 
We got off the flight a few hours later and I had sobered up nicely. One of the passengers from the shuttle ride actually asked me if I had sobered up as he had witnessed my 8:30 am rambling stupidity. I mumbled yes and walked away embarrassed. I looked like ravaged hell but I was home safely. Coming out of the gate was another embarrassment as people literally looked at me like I was some kind of vagabond. Their looks were justified, I was a disgrace to anyone picking me up that day.