30-2 Days of Writing: That’s why I got langered (27/28)

Top o’ the mornin’ to ya!

See, a story about being langered isn’t always easy to write about on the blog. Do you want to share something like that with the world to see?

When I was a wee bit younger, several of us would get trollied during the weekend. It was all well and good because you could get pissed the night before, get up the next day and go like a champ.

As you get older, having that feeling isn’t so nice.

Take us to 2010.

We went on a vacation to Dublin. There were five of us in total, all family. Me and my brother, who are great fans of Guinness, knew there would be several pints of the black stuff tossed back in the fair city.

Why wouldn’t there be?

However, to me, this wasn’t a trip where I’d just get intoxicated and stay that way (unlike some trips to Montreal in my youthful days). That being said, it seemed silly not to get lit up on night.

And this is how it happened…

Me and my two brothers signed up for a pub crawl. It was rather cheap and it looked like fun. They took you to several bars, fed you at one, allowed you to pour your own beers at one (tap system on the table, way too cool) and you got to see some interesting places. Me and my one brother figured we should get toasted at least one night on the trip and this was as good a time as any.

We met the crawl people at a brewpub. Turns out we were the only three on the tour. The owner actually debated canceling it, but decided to let it go on and we were with our tour guide, who was an absolute blast. We hit several bars. Eventually, my one brother left to head back to the hotel. But two of us carried on.

One Guinness turned into two. Then three. Then four.

You get the picture.

And I can tell you this — the Guinness in Ireland seems a lot stronger and it definitely tastes better than the Guinness in the U.S.

Five then six.

Yeah, no kidding, right?

I should also note that I had become more of a social guy when it comes to beers. Maybe one or two a night if I met some people out at the local watering hole.

So let’s say my body wasn’t in the shape to necessarily be able to process these pints as I would hoped.

Seven and eight…

All said, I figured a good dozen or so pints passed through my system that night. We saw some great pubs. Listened to some great music. Saw a World Cup soccer match at one pub. And as the night wore down, we bid our tour guide (who, at that point, was off the clock and have been boozing a bit with us) adieu and made our way to the door and the fresh night air.

That’s when my brother said — do you have any idea how to get back to the hotel?

In Dublin, there’s this massive sphere that goes way into the sky. It can be seen from all over. I was told it’s called the Stiffy by the Liffey. It’s honestly named the Spire of Dublin, and it’s a nearly 400-foot tall stainless steel structure.

I knew our hotel was right near the structure.

So, I pointed to it and said “Head toward the (phallic reference)!”

And off we went.

In the end, we were in Dublin. Two brothers with an affinity toward Guinness. And that is why I got trollied.

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