Whiskey Flight

As a young man, on his second business trip, he decided the night before the flight home to learn about whiskey. There was a fine whiskey bar at the hotel, and it was -15 outside, so he made a deal with the bartender to help him be educated in the ways of Fine Whiskeys. The bartender, being a whiskey affectionado, living for whiskey, stocking 80 varieties, was only happy to oblige.

He spent several enjoyable hours and many shots of whiskey, being explained how this whiskey contrasted the taste of that whiskey, how whiskey could be smoky, sweet, a fine sipping whiskey, a before dinner whiskey, and after dinner whiskey, etc. Later, the young man needed to go back to his hotel room to rest. He had been brutalized by his education into whiskey, and an older business lady made a pass at him in the elevator that he was not capable of responding to.

Early in the morning, after two or three hours sleep, he was awakened quite terribly by the wake-up call he had ordered. Each time the phone rang, it just about ripped a hole right through his skull, so it was hard to get the phone to stop ringing. His limbs were not very cooperative, he couldn't stand up without feeling like he was on the edge of a cliff, or on a ship pitching in high seas. He managed to pack his bags and barely made the flight in time.

Just after the plane took off, he sensed that he was soon to become violently ill. Without waiting for the seat belt sign to be turned off, he bolted for the nearest bathroom and spent the next five hours locked in the lavatory, helplessly and continuously vomiting his guts out. Once and awhile a passenger would knock on the door, but he could not respond. When not gagging in the toilet, he lay on the floor, curled in the fetal position. Shortly before the plane landed, he managed to make it back to his seat, wearing a rime of dried vomit around his mouth. He only noticed the vomit when he was in the airport bathroom, after puking in the farthest stall from the door.

The young man was very tired when he got back to his apartment, and put his luggage down. His midsection felt as if he had done hundreds of situps. To alleviate the residual pain, he decided to go down the street, and have a drink, a nice cool glass of beer.