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The sausage battle. Three short stories on drunkards life


View 2011/2012 - Down Under & On Ancient Traces on cabdragon's travel map.

Finally I get to write more about one of those legendary experiences which happened back in Sydney. It was that time when the "Shitty Resort Hostel" was full of life. A pulsating heart with strong arteries. At that time we were a mixed group of travelers staying there for a couple of weeks. British, Irish, Scottish, German, Dutch but primarily British. During that time I was working at that hostel what meant less drinking and more working for me, especially getting up early every single morning.
Some of those guys you could call professional drinkers or drink-workers as it appeared that they had nothing much to do, apart from that. There was one guy I haven't seen sober in the whole period of let it be 6 weeks or more. A funny, out-going, great guy. Just as a matter of fact he happened to get violent from time to time when he was drunk. As he always was drunk, guess what?!
So let me just paint the following picture for you to give you a slight idea, how living in the "Shitty Resort" was like:

111127_kakadu_23.jpgThe Sausage Battle
At one of the barbies we used to hold on the rooftop, the pissed guys were preparing some sausages and some of them just casually sitting at the table. Then out of a sudden one of them, let's call him Jim, threw a sausage at Tim. He didn't react. Then Jim threw another sausages at Jim. Nothing happened either. So he started throwing more sausages at Jim, even hitting him with some of those grease filled gut bags. Then finally Jim told him to stop it, which didn't not happen. After Tim had several times warned Jim not to go on throwing sausages at him out of a sudden Tim took one of those frying pans to throw it at Jim but not hitting him severely. Then Jim took the pan in reverse to throw it at Tim like you would toss away a grenade which was about to explode. Then Tim jumped from behind the bar towards Jim, take the table which was in between the two in order to take him by the collar, shake him to awake him, to finally make him stop it.
That my friends, was the legendary sausage battle.

The Magazine Swimming Pool
It happened to become a routine. Drinking started usually something in between the time of 6:00am and 6:00pm. Sometimes it was tough to say if people actually started drinking or if they had just come home from drinking. So this was one of those mornings where I started for work (hell yeah, I worked a lot...) finding the "crew" scattered all over the floor, the furniture and the hallway around the common room. Usually you would recognize yellow steam, which is a mixture of exhaled remnants of beer and typically goon, hovering around the entrance area. When you enter the common room you will also find the floor covered with flyers from a close-by flyer-stand. What happened, and I observed this with my own intoxicated eyes, is that Tim was lying on the floor, literally swimming in the masses of flyers. After that he normally wouldn't manage to lift himself anymore which is why I always found him in the next morning in exact the same position where we left him at night. Just one, maybe a little bit odd thing, happened to him: When I found him he was mostly covered with a variety of fire-extinguisher foam, pen marks on his face and body, toothpaste on the nose, goon spilled over his body, his pants pulled down and last not least a message written on his cheek with an arrow pointing towards his mouth reading: "insert dick here".

The Fallen Angel
It was one of those party nights, where everybody was out to have some fun. It was a great, vibrating, goon-filled, high-energetic atmosphere. One of those guys was wearing some angel wings which obviously revealed him being on a pull. We were in O'Malleys, it was the Monday karaoke night, singing our favorite hits "New York, New York", "Suspicious Minds" and "Ring of Fire". The arch-angel wasn't seen after we entered the pub. Just every now and then those wings were twinkling at the bar or on the dance-floor.
The next morning an angel had fallen. It was obvious: I was cleaning again (did I say I kind of hate-loved this job? I hated it because it made me wake up very early every single morning but I loved it, because I was always best informed of what happened in and around the hostel, thus me being more of an observer at this stage of my travelling), so when I was entering the laundry room I found those angel wings accompanied by an empty packing of condoms and a blanket still laying over the washing machine. I was happy that it was just the empty packing and nothing more.

Today's lesson: There're times where you're the protagonist and times where you're just a background actor. Both is fun!

Posted by cabdragon 03:52 Archived in Australia

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