Singapore - Drinking Christmas

A Slightly Fictionalized Remembrance
Before I had a chance to say no, Jean blurted out the address and hung up.  I was to meet her at a downtown bar near the river.  She and her colleagues were celebrating the end of the year over drinks.  It was a hot, swampy day and I didn’t feel like making the effort to get there - especially to have drinks.  Singaporeans cannot handle their alcohol - one, maybe two drinks in they’re bright red, sick to their stomachs and shutting it down for the evening.

I took a shower, threw on an outfit and left the house.  Luckily I got a seat on the train.  The A/C was blasting, turning my neck sweat into an icy sheen.  I got off at the wrong stop and was facing a mile walk.   It was ok - maybe they’d be done drinking by the time I arrived.  No such luck. When I finally found the place, I walked to the patio to find them huddled around their appetizers, drinks untouched.

I knew only a few of the twenty or so people. Jean introduced me and I quickly realized how hungry I was. I ate everything in sight - chicken wings, quesadillas, fries - stuffing myself. When I was full, I sat back and listened to their office talk. This is what I feared more than anything. I was on vacation and I sure didn’t want to be reminded of work.
I kicked into action. “What’d you say?” the guy next to me asked, amazed. “Simple. Singaporeans cannot drink” I repeated loudly, looking at Chingyi, a woman who works for Jean. Eveyone groaned and laughed and then it began. “Let’s go!” Chingyi said, putting up two fingers and glancing back at the waitress. “Two margaritas.”
I wasn’t the least bit worried. She is 90 pounds on her best day, she’d be under the table ten sips into the challenge. Everyone rallied around her and picked up their drinks.

After we finished our margaritas Chingyi ordered another round. Right there we dropped half the crew, they settled for ice waters and shame.  Two margaritas down, I looked into Chingyi’s eyes and she didn’t look the least bit tipsy. Jean was laughing and cheering as she sipped her ice water. “You’ve run into some real competition babe” she yelled, smiling at Chingyi and then pointing to a woman at the far end of the table. “She is the strongest drinker in the crew.” I hadn’t noticed her before. She was serious looking, with long black hair, a black outfit and a poker face I couldn’t read. She was holding her empty glass upside down. She smiled slightly and asked “can we move onto lychee martinis? They’re good here.”
I felt a knot in my stomach. I’m no drinker - I was hoping to be victorious by this point but I was in for a battle. Still, I wasn’t going to let some Asian babes outdrink me.
“Sure thing, whatever you want.” I bluffed, staring back at the Black Widow with confidence.
The martini was overly sweet, each gulp joining the previous and growing into trouble. If felt like a small gang in my stomach was kicking and punching the chicken and fries. I looked over at Jean who somehow had another drink in her hand. I was worried, she can’t drink.

“Babe, take it down a notch, ok?” I pleaded. She was the senior person amongst this group and they were egging her on. “Go, go, go, go.” Her phone rang and she laughed and giggled through the conversation, then covered the phone with one hand and yelled “Boss is paying for the whole night! He said we should go top shelf.”
Before I knew what happened the waitresses placed many large bottles of champagne on the table, popped them and began pouring. We toasted the Boss’ generosity. When they poured the second round, the Black Widow yelled my name to get my attention and then chugged, turned over the empty glass upside-down and gave a small shrug like “no biggie.” I had no choice, I cooly drained mine and hoped my face didn’t give anything away. There was a full-blown riot taking place in my stomach now and I was less than sober. Chingyi looked a little crooked but she was still in the three-way battle with me and the Black Widow.

“What’s your best scotch?” someone asked. That’s how I ended up with a glass of 30 year old Macallan in my hand. It was scary smooth. It didn’t feel like a liquid, but more like a wave of heat that traveled from the back of my throat, into my lungs and eventually pooled behind my eyeballs.
Between the first and second Macallan, Chingyi dropped out, literally. I looked and she was no longer in her seat. The Black Widow and I toasted, we were the last two and we were lavishing praise on each other. “I take it back, at least ONE Asian babe can drink” I said loudly to nobody in particular. The original crowd had thinned considerably though I didn’t remember saying goodnight to anyone. Jean was just sitting next to me, where did she go?

I tried to figure out the count. How many damned drinks? Ten? Twelve? I couldn’t remember. I was at the end however, I was afraid to go further. I settled on surrender - at least nobody was around to see it. Besides, the Black Widow was superior, she couldn’t be beat.

A waitress hovered near my shoulder. “Sir, shall we open another bottle of Macallan?” I looked at the Black Widow, now was the time to bow out gracefully. Her eyes were glazed and half-closed. As I began to open my mouth she shifted in her seat. She looked uncomfortable, her confidence shaken.

“Absolutely”, I said to the waitress, “open that bottle.”

The Black Widow raised both hands, palms out. “No Josh, no more, you win.”

I cannot tell you how happy I was to hear those words.