Kevin the Patriot

“I did it for America.”

In January of 1999 I worked for a consulting company that was based in Phoenix, Arizona. The company (unnamed and therefore making this blog google-proof) was having its first ever company meeting in New Orleans over a weekend. Because the company had no true base of operations there were folks from all over. I had just moved to New York and a friend of mine (that got me the job) lived in New Jersey. Also at the meeting were a couple of Australians that had only recently started doing work for us.

The first night there everyone was having dinner when the Australians commented that Americans couldn’t drink like Australians. As a 24 year old who wasn’t that far out of college I took great offense at this. I didn’t say anything to the Australians, because I didn’t like talking to anyone I worked with when I didn’t have to but mentally I decided I had to prove them wrong. For America.

I should take this moment to point out that I never considered myself a huge drinker. I was Probably at the height of my drinking in 1997 (Senior Year of College), but of my drinking college friends I felt like I was the light weight drinking far less then any of them. However after I started going out to drink with co-workers in late 1997 I realized I had a tolerance that stood up against other comparisons. I would go to parties and see people drunk around me and I felt fine. As the years went by I drank less and less often, but at the point of this story I felt I still had it in me to handle a lot of alcohol.

Dinner ended and everyone went out for some drinks, starting with the classic tourist drink, the Hurricane. After just one Hurricane everyone called it a night except the two Australians, my friend, and me. Once again I should point out I didn’t really want to hang out with anyone. I would have preferred to go home to my hotel room and watch some SportsCenter before falling asleep but I had a country’s reputation to uphold.

We moved on to a few more bars as the night went on. Drinking mostly beer, with a handful of shots. I would order the same drinks the Australians got and made sure I finished each drink at the same time. Somewhere during this time my friend decided to call it quits. He was surprised that I said I wanted to stay out longer. I had a mission.

The night went on and the three of us got very drunk. Eventually one of the Australians commented that we had a meeting at 8am the next day and probably should head in. I ‘reluctantly’ agreed and headed back to my hotel room feeling I had silently stood up for America.

Moments later it was morning and I felt terrible. I had no intention of letting the Australians see me hung over. I struggled to shower, shave, and put on a upbeat face – something I rarely did for jobs when I was not hung over. I entered the meeting room a few minutes early to discover that everyone other then the owners of the company were late.

When they did show they were all clearly hung over. But not this guy. In fact when breakfast was served (mostly bagels and juices) I commented how hungry I was silently laughing as the Australians passed. They were not ready for food. Of course, neither was I. The food was torture, but I ate a good size helping as I sat unable to listen to a word of the meeting. Every part of my brain was trying to calm down my churning stomach. It reminded my stomach that the reputation of America was at stake.

After breakfast was time for a tour of some of the areas of New Orleans. I not-so-luckily got a seat in the back of the van that would transport us from location to location across cobble stone roads. My now full and unhappy stomach was subjected to a punishment that reminded me of a wooden roller coaster.

As our tour guide talked about the history of New Orleans I ignored her fighting back the urge to vomit. Twice during the ride vomit welled up my throat and entered my mouth. I fought the vomit back down my throat. Twice. Sheer will power was keeping me from vomiting over my co-workers and the hung over Australians.

After the tour we all went our separate ways to grab lunch. I went back to my hotel room and passed out. Later when we reunited for our afternoon meeting one of the Australians asked me what I had for lunch and I told him I had gotten shrimp.

Shortly I felt much better. I had endured a terrible day in New Orleans, but it was about to all be worth it.

At dinner that night the Australians once again comment how Americans can’t hold their liquor. “Really?” I said, “I drank as much as either of you last night, and you were the one’s hung over this morning.”

They looked at me for a few moments and begrudgingly said that I was “pretty good.”

U.S.A.!! U.S.A.!! U.S.A.!!