Another of life's lessons

Sometimes we learn valuable life lessons we weren't expecting. For example, in early 2002 I learnt that sitting on the gutter on the side of the road in central Canberra after vomiting on the footpath a small distance away, almost passing out with your head on your knees and waving a $50 note over your head is NOT an effective way to hail a taxi.

That same night, I learnt telling a taxi driver you're not going to vomit in his cab because you've already vomited so much that there's nothing left in your stomach, doesn't really do much to ease his tension.

Okay, so let's rewind just a little bit.

It was a Saturday night in Canberra, I was in my second year of university studies and I needed to blow off some steam. Myself and some friends with whom I had lived in my first year at uni, had a tradition of going down to Kings Park, on the banks of Lake Burley Griffin, with as much cheap champagne (goon) as we could carry. We would then proceed to drink excessively, yell loudly, run wonkily, climb trees and crawl and roll through grass in a location where we weren't disturbing anyone; it was a great way to blow off steam.

This one night was the worst of them all, there was so much goon everywhere and everyone being particularly loud and boisterous. It was probably the biggest gathering we had ever mustered for a goon session (around 30-40 people). It got so out of control that one of my mates stripped down to his jocks and climbed into the lake, (I can't remember if it was for a dare, or because he thought it would be funny, or if he was just curious to see whether his legs would shrivel and die). Anyone familiar with Canberra will know that most people would rather swallow razor blades than swim in the lake.

After a few good hours of drinking excessively, we unanimously decided we were in such a good mood, that it was time to head to Civic and try our luck at Mooseheads (this was before it burnt down that same year). Unfortunately we didn't really stick together, everyone in their drunken state was convinced that THEY knew the best way to get from the park to the clubs and refused to follow anyone else's directions. I walked with two other guys, and for the life of me I can't remember where we went: I do remember passing some children's playground with little underground tunnels thinking it was the best thing EVER and spending about 20 minutes crawling around in it. I do remember passing an Army Reserve unit with an artillery gun out the front, and climbing all over it only to realise it had wet paint. I do remember running away from the unit's duty officer who had come out to see what all the commotion was and I do remember that at some point I lost my phone.

As for the rest of the night, I just have snapshots.

I can vaguely remember walking in to Mooseheads, (got knows how I got in). I can remember that I couldn't see any of my mates. I can remember that I wasn't there for long before I walked out again because I was feeling sick. I can remember that I made it around the corner and to a park bench before I started vomiting on the ground.

I have no idea how long I was sitting on that park bench, but I do remember that eventually I made the decision that I needed to get home, and that I wasn't going to do it sitting on a park bench. I stood up and moved to the corner of the road and sat on the gutter, I think my drunken mind thought that if I sat on a corner, I'd intercept traffic from two different directions. I tried to wave down taxis, but all I saw were headlights, I couldn't tell if they were taxis or cars. I decided that I wasn't going to get far by just waving at people, and it was hurting to hold my head up, so I took $50 from my wallet, held it in the air (with my elbow resting on one of my knees) and put my head down. I hoped like hell a taxi would just stop, I didn't care if the driver over-charged me and took the whole $50.

I waited there, like that, for a long time, before some guy walking past noticed me and came over to help. He asked me if I was okay and I think I managed to say something. Then, by some stroke of luck he managed to stop a taxi and put me in it.

The motion of the taxi made me feel worse, and I was going through the motions to throw up some more, but my stomach was empty, so I was just dry retching. The taxi driver, (rightly concerned) asked me if I was going to vomit in his car, I managed to say something like 'no mate, I've got nothing left.'

In hindsight I think I was lucky to make it home, I was so ill that I was unable to help myself. I didn't drink goon again for a long time and not long after that I started to get better at gauging my limits, I started to be able to feel when I'd had enough, (accurately enough that I would often stop drinking a beer half-way through because I knew that one more sip would make me sick). Never since have I been in such a helpless situation, and never again will I.