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Memorial Day weekend, to most teenagers, has come to be known as the biggest party weekend opportunity around. For my hometown, it was what we waited all year for. The planning phase seemed to drag on forever, and in a few blinks of an eye, it was already over leaving us hungry for the next one. For me the most memorable, or maybe the most eventful since I don’t quite remember much of what happened, was the year I was seventeen.
At seventeen, a boy feels invincible, like nothing can stop him. Of course, the laws of physics and anatomy are always in play regardless of age, but we don’t learn this until later in life. Anyways, this one particular year was around the time I first discovered liquor, and took a liking to it as it tasted better than beer, and would make you drunk in a quarter of the time. We arrive to the campground near Lake George early Friday afternoon, all pumped up and anxious to begin the weekend. My plans included a 1-liter bottle of Gold Schlager, and shortly after setting up the tents, I unscrewed the cap and went to town.
I never knew I could drink so much in about 40 minutes time, but next thing I knew the bottle was empty, and while I did feel a bit tipsy, I have felt drunker than that before. So my next task was to sit and play some card games in a nearby tent with some friends of mine. I remember a jack of spades and an 8 of diamonds at about 1 o’clock in the afternoon. What seemed like a short five minute period was the scariest 13 hours of my life. Of course, I didn’t know it at the time.
When I awoke, I was on the floor of a tent, not mine by the way, soaking wet, in nothing but a pair of sweatpants. Keep in mind I had jeans on, last I knew. My head was buzzing, and I felt hammered from the effects of the alcohol. When I finally found enough energy to stand, I stumbled out of the tent and over to the campfire where some friends were having a few beers. After getting the quiet stare from them as I approached, I thought maybe a ghost was behind me. Little did I know the ghost was me. Upon finding out that it was now after 2 a.m. and I had passed out, I realized that I just experienced my first black out.
The following morning I decided to get a fresh start on the weekend I had already put a damper on. Walking through the campgrounds, I noticed that every person I passed asked if I was ok, or stated that I looked better, or just started laughing altogether. When I got back to the tent, I explained how the entire campground was acting weird, and that’s when I found out what happened.
Apparently my friends, seeing me start to convulse to the effects of consuming too much alcohol in such a tiny period of time, decided that the best thing to do was to run me across the campgrounds to the public bathhouse, strip me down, and soak me in a nice ice cold shower. Well, that explains waking up soaked, I say, not realizing yet that the entire campground filled with over 200 teenagers were the audience to me being doused in my birthday suit. My friends, yes I still refer to them as friends, decided that since I looked like I was still alive, they removed me from the shower, and threw me in a nearby tent face down, as I could not stop vomiting. Standing there in disbelief, I deny the whole thing, until I was made aware that one of my dear friends had a camera, and lucky for me there was a one hour photo shop down the street. After flipping through dozens of pictures showing me vomiting, tripping over people’s tents, sucking down beers, passed out on the ground, and of course me in the shower, I knew I had no basis to deny a thing. Thankfully this was before the age of the internet, and these pictures rest securely with my best friend.
Needless to say, I took the rest of the weekend easy. I found out later I most likely had alcohol poisoning. As much as my friends have helped contribute to one of my most embarrassing moments in history, I can honestly say that they were responsible for saving my life.
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