It was bound to happen, a twenty-year-old American in Europe; over-drinking was inevitable. What could have been avoidable, though, was doing so the night before going to the largest antique market in London. So there I was, absolutely miserable at Alfie's, the market I had so been looking forward to for the entire trip.
As I open my eyes the morning after having a bottle of José Cuervo Gold delivered to my door, I already know I screwed myself. I sit up and a force immediately strikes me in the head causing my mind and sight to start spinning. I peer over to the nearly empty bottle by my bed accompanied by the saran-wrapped limes and paper bag of salt I had taken from the family dinner the night before.
Good going you dumb fuck, you’re still drunk. I think as I pull the covers off, preparing myself for the journey down three long flights of stairs to quench my overwhelming thirst.
I stagger to the door and slowly take on the monstrous stairs, leaning against the wall to steady myself as I take one step at a time. When I reach my destination, I pull out the handful of quid I had grabbed for the vending machine. A classmate sits on the couch facing my salvation and we hold eye contact as I put my coins in.
Clink, beep, clunk! Clink, beep, clunk! Clink, beep, clunk! Clink, beep… The machine runs out of water. She laughs as I explain the state I’m in. The never-ending wave of pity from my classmates that washes over me all day starts here and now. I sit with her as I destroy the first bottle of water, then decide it's time to go back to sleep; we have another three hours before we have to meet for class. I slither back up the stairs and into bed.
The second awakening is not as pleasant as the first. The depression that always hits the day after a heavy night of drinking has arrived and it is worse than usual. As unwelcome tears spill out of my eyes and I come to terms with the fact that today is going to be absolutely rotten, I succumb that I will have to stay in. There is no way I can make it through the whole day, I barely move and it takes everything I have not to lose my dinner. I discuss the options with my roommate and we decide to tell my professor that I need a mental health day, which is completely true seeing as I can’t stop these cursed tears from falling and my chest continues to tighten with anxiety. We’ll just leave out the part about my still being inebriated, my worst nightmare is being that kid who misses class because of their drinking the night before. My depression worsens as I wallow in shame and think about everything I’ll miss that day.
Five minutes before eleven, when we’re scheduled to meet, I decide to suck it up and go. I will not be that kid. I rush to brush my teeth and put mascara on to hide behind and book it down the stairs. Not the best idea as I have to take a break on level one to steady my stomach. I join the group and a new woman is with us. Right. Chopan’s wife is joining us today. Great first impression you dumb shit, I chide myself. As we march to Goodge Street Station, I regret my choice to leave the room. I slink to find my friend B.
“The second we get to the market I’m turning around.”
Well, I tried. The tube ride is rough. I have to stand the whole time and I swear this is the longest ride we’ve done yet. I lose my balance every time we start and stop. I focus on my breathing to help steady my stomach. When we get off, Chopan informs us that we will be walking through a smaller market together first before we head to Alfie’s. You’ve got to be kidding me! As we pass fishmongers, I fear I will lose the battle against my stomach. Hold it together, Anwen, you’ve made it this far. I curse the fact that there are no trash cans anywhere in this city. Fuck terrorism, bro.
We finally stop in the street and Chopan gives us the rundown on the market before we go in. The second I hear there is a café upstairs, I sluggishly attempt to book it up the three stories and peevishly arranged for our group to get a table. After making this poor server put together enough tables for twelve, half the group ends up on the balcony. Classic. My irritable ass ends up in the corner, where I am trapped until everyone is ready to leave. After ordering breakfast, I realize I would be unable to actually keep any of it down. Again, classic. I sip my tea and nibble my scone, but when my eggs arrive I skirt them over to B. with the rest of my scone and take a single piece of toast. People try to make conversation with me which I really appreciate, but the majority of my energy is going toward calming my stomach. As everyone eats their brunch, my drunkenness turns into a clobbering hangover. The pity of my classmates continues to wash over me. I continually remind them that this is my own fault and I do not deserve their pity. They give it to me anyway.
As everyone finishes up, I make my way to the cashier to pay for the food I didn’t eat. B. tosses me some money to help pay, again I feel like it’s my own fault and don’t deserve the help, but accept it anyhow. I inform my classmates that I am heading home and more pity wafts my way. I hate pity.
Walking to the nearest tube station I notice that the brisk air actually makes me feel better. As I pass some construction workers carrying piping into a house I decide to turn back. I turn the corner and go around the block. I am not going to miss Alfie’s. I get back to the market and start wandering around. Each time I pass a classmate I say “Ayy, decided to tough it and and see some dope antiques.” More pity. Great. My main goal for this market was to buy myself an antique ring. After asking some venders about prices, I realize this goal was not feasible. I am ecstatic that I am feeling well enough to actually do the market, but I speak (think?) too soon and after about fifteen minutes I start feeling horribly nauseous again. Well, I gave it my best shot, I think to myself as I inform the classmates around me that I am, for real this time, going back to the hotel. I stop at a convenience store and buy a hunker of a water bottle and continue past the construction workers again. I wonder if they noticed that I had walked by twice in the same direction….
As I make my way back to the hotel the nausea continues to get worse and worse. Why didn’t you just leave the first time? I worry I am going to let loose on the tube. How embarrassing would that be? I just continue to focus on my breathing and remind myself that I only have to wait fifteen more minutes. Once I finally make it back to my room I carefully take off my shoes and put my things away. I made it this long, what is one more minute going to do. After my shoes are tucked away and my coat hung up I sit down in front of the toilet and stay there for the next hour as I lose what little I ate for breakfast, my vending machine water, the tequila and lime juice and salt, whatever other drinks were passed my way, and finally my dinner. I don’t leave the room again until the next morning.
Not only was this a lesson for the rest of the trip, but a life lesson as well. I have never been, and vow to never again be, that hungover in my life. It’s just not worth it! I have always been a lightweight when it comes to drinking and never really get as wasted as my peers so it confounds me that they are able to drink as much as they do. Even after that entire bottle of tequila plus whatever drinks were fed to me at the bars I never blacked out that night. So I can only imagine what people go through at school after their wild nights. I hear time and time again “I don’t know man, I totally blacked out last night, I don’t remember a thing.” from classmates. If I am bed bound after this, how the hell do they survive if they black out every Friday and Saturday night? Props to them for their strength, I could never. I always joke that I want to black out at least once before graduating, but honestly, after this experience, I am never drinking that much ever again.
As I open my eyes the morning after having a bottle of José Cuervo Gold delivered to my door, I already know I screwed myself. I sit up and a force immediately strikes me in the head causing my mind and sight to start spinning. I peer over to the nearly empty bottle by my bed accompanied by the saran-wrapped limes and paper bag of salt I had taken from the family dinner the night before.
Good going you dumb fuck, you’re still drunk. I think as I pull the covers off, preparing myself for the journey down three long flights of stairs to quench my overwhelming thirst.
I stagger to the door and slowly take on the monstrous stairs, leaning against the wall to steady myself as I take one step at a time. When I reach my destination, I pull out the handful of quid I had grabbed for the vending machine. A classmate sits on the couch facing my salvation and we hold eye contact as I put my coins in.
Clink, beep, clunk! Clink, beep, clunk! Clink, beep, clunk! Clink, beep… The machine runs out of water. She laughs as I explain the state I’m in. The never-ending wave of pity from my classmates that washes over me all day starts here and now. I sit with her as I destroy the first bottle of water, then decide it's time to go back to sleep; we have another three hours before we have to meet for class. I slither back up the stairs and into bed.
The second awakening is not as pleasant as the first. The depression that always hits the day after a heavy night of drinking has arrived and it is worse than usual. As unwelcome tears spill out of my eyes and I come to terms with the fact that today is going to be absolutely rotten, I succumb that I will have to stay in. There is no way I can make it through the whole day, I barely move and it takes everything I have not to lose my dinner. I discuss the options with my roommate and we decide to tell my professor that I need a mental health day, which is completely true seeing as I can’t stop these cursed tears from falling and my chest continues to tighten with anxiety. We’ll just leave out the part about my still being inebriated, my worst nightmare is being that kid who misses class because of their drinking the night before. My depression worsens as I wallow in shame and think about everything I’ll miss that day.
Five minutes before eleven, when we’re scheduled to meet, I decide to suck it up and go. I will not be that kid. I rush to brush my teeth and put mascara on to hide behind and book it down the stairs. Not the best idea as I have to take a break on level one to steady my stomach. I join the group and a new woman is with us. Right. Chopan’s wife is joining us today. Great first impression you dumb shit, I chide myself. As we march to Goodge Street Station, I regret my choice to leave the room. I slink to find my friend B.
“The second we get to the market I’m turning around.”
Well, I tried. The tube ride is rough. I have to stand the whole time and I swear this is the longest ride we’ve done yet. I lose my balance every time we start and stop. I focus on my breathing to help steady my stomach. When we get off, Chopan informs us that we will be walking through a smaller market together first before we head to Alfie’s. You’ve got to be kidding me! As we pass fishmongers, I fear I will lose the battle against my stomach. Hold it together, Anwen, you’ve made it this far. I curse the fact that there are no trash cans anywhere in this city. Fuck terrorism, bro.
We finally stop in the street and Chopan gives us the rundown on the market before we go in. The second I hear there is a café upstairs, I sluggishly attempt to book it up the three stories and peevishly arranged for our group to get a table. After making this poor server put together enough tables for twelve, half the group ends up on the balcony. Classic. My irritable ass ends up in the corner, where I am trapped until everyone is ready to leave. After ordering breakfast, I realize I would be unable to actually keep any of it down. Again, classic. I sip my tea and nibble my scone, but when my eggs arrive I skirt them over to B. with the rest of my scone and take a single piece of toast. People try to make conversation with me which I really appreciate, but the majority of my energy is going toward calming my stomach. As everyone eats their brunch, my drunkenness turns into a clobbering hangover. The pity of my classmates continues to wash over me. I continually remind them that this is my own fault and I do not deserve their pity. They give it to me anyway.
As everyone finishes up, I make my way to the cashier to pay for the food I didn’t eat. B. tosses me some money to help pay, again I feel like it’s my own fault and don’t deserve the help, but accept it anyhow. I inform my classmates that I am heading home and more pity wafts my way. I hate pity.
Walking to the nearest tube station I notice that the brisk air actually makes me feel better. As I pass some construction workers carrying piping into a house I decide to turn back. I turn the corner and go around the block. I am not going to miss Alfie’s. I get back to the market and start wandering around. Each time I pass a classmate I say “Ayy, decided to tough it and and see some dope antiques.” More pity. Great. My main goal for this market was to buy myself an antique ring. After asking some venders about prices, I realize this goal was not feasible. I am ecstatic that I am feeling well enough to actually do the market, but I speak (think?) too soon and after about fifteen minutes I start feeling horribly nauseous again. Well, I gave it my best shot, I think to myself as I inform the classmates around me that I am, for real this time, going back to the hotel. I stop at a convenience store and buy a hunker of a water bottle and continue past the construction workers again. I wonder if they noticed that I had walked by twice in the same direction….
As I make my way back to the hotel the nausea continues to get worse and worse. Why didn’t you just leave the first time? I worry I am going to let loose on the tube. How embarrassing would that be? I just continue to focus on my breathing and remind myself that I only have to wait fifteen more minutes. Once I finally make it back to my room I carefully take off my shoes and put my things away. I made it this long, what is one more minute going to do. After my shoes are tucked away and my coat hung up I sit down in front of the toilet and stay there for the next hour as I lose what little I ate for breakfast, my vending machine water, the tequila and lime juice and salt, whatever other drinks were passed my way, and finally my dinner. I don’t leave the room again until the next morning.
Not only was this a lesson for the rest of the trip, but a life lesson as well. I have never been, and vow to never again be, that hungover in my life. It’s just not worth it! I have always been a lightweight when it comes to drinking and never really get as wasted as my peers so it confounds me that they are able to drink as much as they do. Even after that entire bottle of tequila plus whatever drinks were fed to me at the bars I never blacked out that night. So I can only imagine what people go through at school after their wild nights. I hear time and time again “I don’t know man, I totally blacked out last night, I don’t remember a thing.” from classmates. If I am bed bound after this, how the hell do they survive if they black out every Friday and Saturday night? Props to them for their strength, I could never. I always joke that I want to black out at least once before graduating, but honestly, after this experience, I am never drinking that much ever again.