That title is a big lie. I have no intention of telling you that story. However, I will share with you the little adventure I had last night. It all started with a bus.
This particular bus was designed to pick up and carry about 30 people to a party. It began its journey in Tayama and finished at the APPI ski resort. I was on that bus. I bet you are wondering why people didn’t just drive themselves to this party. Well, you see, the purpose for this party was to get you as drunk as possible in the shortest amount of time and then get them home so they could puke all over the place. Obviously, if people drove themsevles, they wouldn’t be able to get shitfaced. This is what they call the 忘年会, or the “Forget the year” party. It is an annual tradition of debauchery and sin. This year, they had it on a weekday. A goddamned weekday! My desitny on this night was surely sealed. If you ask me, rather than forgetting the year, it seems as if they are adding to the list for next year.
After we arrive, we are promptly sorted and seated. There is a short opening ceremony and then people start drinking. I’m not talking about the drinking where you have a sip and then talk for a bit. No, this was a simple matter of guzzling beer and sake the way my car consume regular unleaded. By ten o’oclock I was no longer aware of my surrounding, and no one else seemed to be either. Then we getting loaded on another bus that is supposed to take us home. This is what I was supposed to believe.
My friend, who is sitting right next to me, asks me if I want to go drinking. I asked him whether or not that was what we just did. He says it’s time for the second stage. I’m hestitant, saying that I have classes tomorrow. Then he pulls the samurai card. “Don’t you have the samurai spirit?” I’m fairly sure a good samurai wasn’t judged on his ability to puke his guts out, though I could be wrong. So I agree to come and drink some more. Sure, it’s a weekday, but I guess I’ll just have to suck it up and take it like a man.
We get to the snack bar(hostess bar) and are greeted by a couple of attractive women. We sit down and spend to the next few minutes listening to someone kill a microphone. This guy was basically just shouting into the mic and nothing but feeback was coming back. After a few more beers, I decide to take matters into my own hands, and woe them with my rendition of “Hey Jude.” Then it’s back to the beer. We drink hard for another thirty minutes, and then it’s off to the Hormone restaurant where we partake in more beer and various endtrails. I’m not sure why they call it “hormone”, but I think it has something to do with the meat.
After all is said and done, I am ushered in to a taxi, and somehow find my way home. I remember getting up and throwing up, then going back to sleep. Then, I woke up, got dressed, came to school and threw up all over the mens washroom. At the moment, I am nursing a headache and I feel the urge to puke some more. I’ll catch you later.
And that is the story of how Christmas came to Japan.
0 Responses to “How Christmas Came to Japan”