One warm fall evening, about two weeks into my freshman year of college, I followed some of my roommates down Main Street to a party. The keg was in the shower and cups were cheap. I wasn't a big drinker at the time, so by the end of the night, when I had imbibed somewhere around 9 beers, the whole world was flopping around like a water bed in an earthquake. To make matters worse, I hadn't eaten a thing since lunch.
That was perhaps the drunkest I have ever been--and I was up all night paying for it. Puking, retching, whatever you want to call it, I was in a bad way. A few years previous I got really sick when I left my house for a weekend, then, not knowing the power went off for two days, ate spoiled food out of the fridge when I got back. But after 9 beers, I was sicker.
Just about the only thing I remember from that whole warm night is being sick. Wave after wave of wrenching nausea sweeping over me as I prayed to the porcelain god. It lasted for hours. Every minute hunched over the bowl is clear in my mind's eye. And not just the physical act of being sick, but the feelings, emotions and all the horrible internal sensations that went along with it. That swelling from deep down that builds and rises, no matter how hard you try to stop it. That piercing pain that bridges the time between heaves. That feeling of emptiness that lingers long after your gut is completely evacuated.
I've been sick a few times since. Hard nights out, stomach flu, more goddamn food poisoning, etc. But none of those instances really brought back the awful feelings of that night quite as vividly as The Persuaders. Not the movie--the subject.
Jean-Paul Sartre said, "l'enfer, c'est les autres," or, "hell is other people." I think he was close. After watching The Persuaders, it's clear that hell is other people selling you things.
Minimum Wrage
That was perhaps the drunkest I have ever been--and I was up all night paying for it. Puking, retching, whatever you want to call it, I was in a bad way. A few years previous I got really sick when I left my house for a weekend, then, not knowing the power went off for two days, ate spoiled food out of the fridge when I got back. But after 9 beers, I was sicker.
Just about the only thing I remember from that whole warm night is being sick. Wave after wave of wrenching nausea sweeping over me as I prayed to the porcelain god. It lasted for hours. Every minute hunched over the bowl is clear in my mind's eye. And not just the physical act of being sick, but the feelings, emotions and all the horrible internal sensations that went along with it. That swelling from deep down that builds and rises, no matter how hard you try to stop it. That piercing pain that bridges the time between heaves. That feeling of emptiness that lingers long after your gut is completely evacuated.
I've been sick a few times since. Hard nights out, stomach flu, more goddamn food poisoning, etc. But none of those instances really brought back the awful feelings of that night quite as vividly as The Persuaders. Not the movie--the subject.
Jean-Paul Sartre said, "l'enfer, c'est les autres," or, "hell is other people." I think he was close. After watching The Persuaders, it's clear that hell is other people selling you things.
Minimum Wrage
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