Thursday, August 04, 2005

How many beers can Mojoey drink?

I’ve been on a brief business trip to Acuna. Last night, while blowing off some steam in a traditional male bonding establishment (or bar for the ladies), I was confronted with the question of how many beers can I drink…. Let me explain. I am not a beer drinker. I like beer, but I prefer scotch. As my friends can attest, I can drink bucket loads of scotch. But beer, well… I’ve never even tried to find my limits.

Acuna has a nice bar called the Corona Club. Corona is available for a dollar a bottle, so it one has $26 dollars to his name, then it is going to be about 20 beers (you’ve got to tip, right?). The Corona Club is the filming location for the bar scenes in Antonio Bandarious’s movie, Desperado. The bar is full of memorabilia. Oh, back to the story.

After arriving at the bar and taking the tour (Corona in hand), my amigos Chris and Hector starting buying rounds. I started buying after a few rounds because I was the guest. We bought beers for the toothless chicklet seller, which seemed better than giving him a dollar, except he would have bought beer with the dollar anyway. We als talked to the 16 year old Del Rio boys and girls who were in the bar because they could party and drink without adults interfering – except we were adults, drunk adults, but adults none the less and interfering a little too. But most importantly, we bought beers for ourselves. I lost track of how many I drank, when I checked my cash near the end, I was down to five bucks, so I’m figuring between 12 and 16. At one point, I was done and tried to stop drinking (which is hard to do when with beer drinking friends), but I somehow managed to finish up with three more beers.

After five hours, we walked out of the Corona club in search of food. I cannot remember the name of the establishment we went to, but we were the only people in it. We started with margaritas – it was a bad idea. After a nice long dinner, we stumbled out onto the street in search of our cars (note: at this point, I was no longer drunk, because dinner took a real long time and because of how quickly I process alcohol because of my size). Acuna was closed, except for the whorehouses and the taxi drivers. It was a good time to go back to the hotel.

At the border… Sir, are you an American citizen? I answer, ‘sure”. The border patrol dude looked at me for a moment then asked, “What are you bringing from Mexico”, my answer, “nothing”. He does not ask for a passport or photo ID, nor does he care that I smell like a humid, smoke filled bar. Instead, he does his best Apu from the Simson's, “thank you, come again” and waves me through.


Johnny Crow said...

I want to say congrats on the drinking, but I can't... I used to be a scotch man myself, nothing under 15yrs but since I stopped drinking it really hits me hard now. Although I never really had any problems with scotch, beer always made me feel like crap in the morning.

And about the border patrol... why is it that it was very easy for you to get in through mexico when other people I know have a hard ass time coming in from Canada... crazy...

Mojoey said...

II expected the Spanish Inquisition. I had my passport and drivers license at the ready, but I guess I looked to much like a pasty white fat American to pose too much of a threat. I went through the same check point a few weeks back with an Iranian, and Indian, and a Mexican – Jeez, you would have thought I was bringing in a bomb. They were all over us. I guess it’s context driven, a large white male blotto at midnight gets the automatic pass through.

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