OK, champ, walk it off. All I can do at this point is laugh at my situation, which must have looked odd, a Flip in the middle of Poland shuffling unsteadily around the block at 3 in the morning, mumbling to himself. Breathe deep. Aaaahhh, that feels better. After my lap*, I step back inside to rejoin the festivities, but without the drinking part. On the way in, I pass the men's bathroom door, which is open for me to see someone with a mop and bucket cleaning up my sadness. Our eyes meet for a split second; does he know it's me? Head down, I quickly enter the reception room.
Big mistake. The sight and smell of food sends my stomach into a violent lurch; I can't go back into the bathroom-they're still cleaning up. I see the outdoor deck and head straight for the rail...God, I hope there isn't anyone down there...and let fly. The splat splat splat from my payload hitting a metal shed down below, plus the sight of me leaning over the guardrail catches the attention of the small group gathered outside. Well, no point in trying to maintain any sense of dignity now, sitting down on the nearest bench to just not cause any further damage, though my preference at the time was to spontaneously combust.
Here's where the warmth and the hospitality of the Polish people will forever be impressed into my memory--I'm barely seated 5 minutes when one of the old guys I was drinking with brings out a cup of hot tea, motioning for me to drink; someone nearby says I need to drink it as fast as I can, which seems to have two benefits: it sobers me up quickly and also gets the taste of puke out of my mouth, since I have no more functioning tastebuds. K's uncle joins us and we "talk," about what I don't remember, but now I've forgotten (temporarily) about the episode, the fog slowly starting to lift. I remember seeing Monika one more time, she came outside to see how I was doing, then she was gone. Goddamn, I'm good.
The rest of the morning went uneventfully, for me anyway, though I spent it helping keep an eye on David, who was still completely sauced, just to make sure he didn't hurt himself. We finally piled into the van as daylight broke, driven home by a young fellow named Janusz, who patiently sat through the entire reception-without drinking, mind you, since he was driving-waiting for us Americans to ask to be taken home (David and I had spent some time the night before with Janusz talking about grunge and, oh, our testicles. Very entertaining). I think it was 7 by the time I finally sank into bed. The final box score:
Days in Poland: 2.25
Weddings attended: 1
Shots of vodka consumed (est.): 15
Bathrooms cleared: 1
Pictures taken (est.): 40
Polish babes successfully picked up: 0
*Though I didn't realize it, I find out later that Adam, K's cousin, was a few yards behind me the entire time, making sure I didn't get mugged. Many thanks.
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