Begging For Water

There are over 1000 pubs in Dublin serving the million or so people that live here. I’ve been in my fair share of pubs, probably numbering close to 40 by now, which is pretty good considering 1- I’ve been here for only 17 months and 2- I no longer date Tax Boy. The Irish don’t meet for dinner. They don’t take in a movie. They don’t get together over coffee. They go to the pub. Because that's where everyone is. Everyone I know at least. Since being here, I can honestly say, I’ve never drunk so much in my life. A glass here, a pint there, and before you know it, it’s late, Late, LATE in the evening and I’m begging for a glass of water. Just try to get away with that one here.

The first several times I asked, I was scoffed at and handed another Guinness/white wine/shot and told that water is for tourists. Let us just clarify this thread, shall we? (Mom) I am not falling down drunk every time I lift a glass to my lips. But it really does take one or two good episodes of drinking to Muppet stage (so drunk someone needs to hold you up) before the friends realize that, when asking for water, I’m actually offering them a choice: hand over the water or I kidnap myself, back to the house/hotel/taxi home, for the evening. I’m an American. I cannot drink like the Irish. My body is simply not made for it. I either need food at the beginning or I need a fair amount of water, preferably between drinks. If neither demand is met, I go home early and/or drunk with a capital D. And when I’m hung-over? Forget about any activity the following day. They’re learning but it’s been an uphill battle. I hadn’t realized just how uphill until Padrig made a comment the other day: that seems to happen to you a lot. I had been recounting the previous evening’s adventures that ended at 3am with me trying to convince friends I had no need for yet another beer. I whined until the water was placed in my hand, reminding me of an exasperated parent handing over an ice cream to a spoiled toddler. In the many months since I’ve been the Whiney American in Drink Training, the friends have all adopted what I call the Water Ritual ; upon hearing the request, they pause, give me an appraising look, including a head to toe once over, and suss out my sobriety. Then I’m either granted or denied. I think it has something to do with the weave factor. If I’m not weaving, permission denied. Good think I’m unsteady anyway or I might not have a liver left. I knew there was a reason I wore high heels! (Destroy the feet to save the liver. Hmmm… is that the proverbial ‘lesser of two evils’?)

When I went to Oktoberfest last year, we made all sorts of jokes about how I’ve been “in training with the Irish” and should have been able to hold my own in the Beer Gardens. I have and I couldn’t. Here’s why. It’s not unusual for a man to hit the pub on Friday and drink 15 or 16 pints, wake up the next day, head to the pub to watch the match and have another 15 or 16. That’s entirely normal for the lads. Throw in a holiday weekend and it gets quite a bit worse. I doubt there is a bar in the US, not contained in a fraternity house or a Marine barracks, where you would be served 16 pints and allowed to leave. When Mel Gibson was arrested for drunk driving, the Irish media noted his blood alcohol content and further noted (for entertainment purposes I can only presume) that 2 beers would have put you to that level. Two. Again? I am an American. A small one, I might add. I don’t have Mel’s body mass to aid me. As already stated, I’ve got crap balance when sober. Add alcohol and it’s a wonder I’m not covered with enough bruising to eliminate the need for a fake tan.

Another factor that is contributing to my downfall: they drink in round. There is no personal ordering. Someone buys a round for the group. Drinks are had; someone else buys the next round, etc... So if you go to the pub with a small group of friends, you’re in for at least that number of pints; the larger the group the better the chance of drinking under the radar. (I’ve gotten away with only 2 or 3 drinks for the evening but it takes several trips to the bathrooms and a lot of ‘he’s at the bar getting me one now’) Small groups though… impossible. If I meet Mark, Joe and Sarah for drinks, the smallest amount I’m going to have is 4 glasses of wine. 4 glasses of wine equals one bottle of wine. (Alternatively, I’ll have 4 pints of Guinness because they all feel stupid carrying a Glass of beer thru the bar. It’s undignified for the men and Sarah considers it her mission to ‘get me up to speed’.) And that’s just at the first pub. It’s called a pub crawl because you eventually end up crawling if you’re an American. The Irish seem to never crawl. It’s astonishing really. And the thing is, Sarah can actually keep pace with the boys, she of the ‘Eating is Cheating’ Fame, so I get no support on the female ‘we’re more delicate’ front. Where the hell is Lech Welesa when you need a little solidarity? Oh right, in Poland fighting the Evil Twins. Ah hell, the Polish drink like the Irish anyway, he’d be no help whatsoever.