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Rock bottom is a funny place to be. You know that the only way you can go is up, but that really doesn’t deliver any comfort in the moment.
For some reason my company decided to send some of my co-workers and myself on an international business trip. Given the fact that I’m barely out of college, this amazing opportunity meant one thing to me. I would have the chance to explore a new culture, taking in everything that it had to offer and opening myself up to new perspectives. Just kidding, it meant free booze. The plan seemed foolproof: Pre-game the airport at a restaurant, drink at the gate, order free booze on the plane, pass out and wake up on arrival to keep the buzz going into that night. What could possibly go wrong?
Perhaps it’s my lack of experience with flying, vastly diminished alcohol tolerance since graduating, or the complete and utter lack of understanding I have about the effects of alcohol on the human body, but suffice it to say, things did not go according to plan.
The total flight time was about eight hours. Roughly one of those was spent extending my carefully honed buzz into a full scale blackout. To be fair, I felt both the flight attendant and my lack of self-control are to blame. This man just wanted to see the world burn. More specifically, my world. The last thing I remember before waking up was him handing me a nip of Hennessy and giving me a look that I took to mean, “Don’t be a pussy, drink it.” In hindsight, his look was probably of concern, and I was more taking the bottle than him giving it to me, but that’s neither here nor there.
Anyone who has woken up on a plane after drinking heavily has most likely experienced exactly what I was feeling in that moment. Panic set in as I realized I was about to endure a stage five, life-altering hangover at 30,000 feet. I checked the time, praying to see that the plane would land soon, only to be greeted with the haunting realization that the flight had only just crossed the halfway mark.
At that moment is when I began to fully grasp the gravity of what I had done. Normally when hung-over I’ll utilize a variety of cures that I’ve learned over my drinking career. Easy-Mac and a bottle of water? Cured, but not available on a plane. One metric fuck-ton of ice water, coupled with some eggs over-easy? Cured, but not available on a plane. Stay in bed all day and wait for it to pass? Cured, but not available on plane. More booze? Cured and available! But the cost in this situation was just too great. My only option was to flag down the flight attendant and beg for water. He acknowledged my request and poured me a glass, all the while looking disapprovingly down upon the shattered remains of a once confident young man.
The rest of the flight, as you can imagine, was a disaster. A mix of dry mouth, a pounding headache, and desperately trying and failing to fall back to sleep summarized the next four hours of my life. Upon arrival, I made a bee line for my hotel room while my co-workers went out and enjoyed the city.
Should I have tried to rally? I wish. Unfortunately at this point, I was just too far gone. The mere idea of ingesting more alcohol gave me cold sweats and made my liver cry for help. I had to cut my losses, learn my lesson and move on, hoping to know in the future that when the flight attendant offers you cognac, it’s probably best not to drink it.
So why am I sharing this story with you, reader who doesn’t care about my life spiraling down the drain? The glimmer of hope that it will cause at least one person to think twice before getting annihilated going into a long flight is enough for me. Don’t make the same mistakes I did. In a piece of advice that my friends would be shocked and devastated to hear coming from me, if you’re flying and planning to drink, it would benefit you to do so… in moderation..
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Post Grad Brad
Recent post grad whose name is Brad. That pretty much sums it up. Email me at postgradbrad@gmail.com.
*Mission Control, please prepare for landing, we have an awful take coming in*
Let me get this straight, you got on the flight and drank enough to blackout. At that point, 1 hr in on an 8 hr flight, you fell asleep. Next, you woke up at the half way point, 4/8 hrs in, and you had a hangover. How can you go from blackout to hungover in 3 hours? You have to be the biggest lightweight (gigantic pussy) in the world.
Wade Boggs would be rolling in his grave if he could see your behavior.
First off, Wade Boggs is very much alive.
he’s also still raging hard as fuck, if I do recall correctly
Still nationally ranked?
Drinking on a plane is great, sounds like you just don’t know how to do it.
What is this amateur hour? Get just drunk enough before you get on the plane to sleep the entire flight away, and begin boozing when you arrive at your destination. Come on man
“Come on man” gets me every single time. I know; I am simple.
I second this approach.
One Xanax and 3 little bottles of wine turned a 16hr flight into a 3hr flight. You will never convince me that plane drinking is overrated or unnecessary.
Xanax does wonders
Pro technique. That’s how I got across the Mississippi.
My opinion is based purely off the title. You’re wrong.
Nah
Drinking is the only good thing about flying. You must be one of those types that still looks out the window with excitement during take offs and landings. Go get fucked over for like 10 more years and feel what it’s like to really be jaded and then see how you feel about not drinking on planes.
I look out the window in excitement, but only because I got my undergrad in Urban Planning. However, I do it with a Jack and Coke in my hand and I’m always halfway drunk when I walk onto the plane.
Plus one for looking at a city’s road network from the window
Right? And being able to figure out what city you’re flying over because you know a lot of their street “grids”. Flying at night is best time for it.
So is the opening sequence to Up In The Air the best three minutes of your life? I’m a geography nerd and quite enjoy it.
Haven’t seen it.
You misspelled “I fucked up and miscalculated my airport drinking”