Drunken Cheers Upon Landing
Calling Hawaii ‘home’ clearly has undeniable benefits. Still, you never quite get used to the unusual happenings that accompany the conflation of ‘childhood home’ and ‘dream vacation paradise.’ I may be wrong, but I think it highly unlikely that you, oh native resident of Montana, have ever had your fellow passengers perform the wave during the plane’s final descent.
Can you blame them, really?
Usually I enjoy the cabin-wide excitement. I can almost pretend that everyone is thrilled for the same reasons I am: the imminent consumption of manapua, fresh ahi poke, and go lo mein. (They’re not).
This last trip, however, I had trouble perpetuating this suspension of disbelief. The thorn in my alternate reality bubble was the group of thirty-somethings — some guy, his fiance, and a buddy — sitting next to us. Before we had even taken off, the engaged guy (hitherto referred to as Bacardi Bro) and his friend (hitherto referred to as Ginormous) had begun salivating over the imminent full beverage service. “Bro, I can’t wait to get ass drunk!” “Yeah, bro, when are they going to give us drinks?”
Once the beverage cart came around, Barcardi Bro procured two little bottles of Bacardi a can of coke, and a cup of ice. Ginormous (after explaining to us that he was, in fact, the founder and owner of “ginormous dot com” the newest search engine on the block which apparently is now a children’s book publisher…hmm) preferred two little bottles of Jack with his coke. Doubly strong drinks rendered Bacardi Bro and Ginormous incapable of remaining seated. Perhaps they believed that they could absorb alcohol more easily while standing. In any case, Ginormous and Bacardi Bro started a small but cheerful party by the lavatories which, should you be wondering, were also right next to our seats.
Before long, Ginormous and Bacardi Bro had been joined by a small but tightly clad coterie of almost-single women who were also enjoying tiny bubbles at 30,000 feet. More little bottles, more cokes, a few beers, and a few hours later, Bacardi Bro and Ginormous were still going strong. “Bro,” Bacardi announced loudly to the cabin in general, “I cannot WAIT to get drunk in Hawaii!”
So, to no one’s surprise but his own, Bacardi Bro was soon told that he and Ginormous were being “cut off” from any more alcohol. Ginormous handled this news relatively well — after all, he had already stashed an extra Jack in his shorts’ pocket — but Bacardi Bro was crushed. He simply could not fathom the inhumanity of being forced to spend the final hour and twenty minutes of the flight without another beer. This, too, could not be handled sitting down. Bacardi Bro swore, volubly, that he was far from intoxicated. He tried to get someone — anyone — else on the flight to order him another beer. After a quick smoke break in the lavatory, he resumed his pleas undiminished.
It was a long hour and a half for all of us.
After enduring Bacardi Bro’s incessant patter and very vocal longing for more alcohol, it was difficult to tell if the communal cheer upon landing was in celebration of Hawaii or in rejoicing over our imminent separation from Bacardi Bro. Of this I am sure: if Bacardi Bro and Ginormous have their wish, they may not remember much of their Hawaii vacation. As for me, things could only get better from there. And they did.