Book Excerpt: Mexicali Blues

 Recently, someone asked me "why don't you drink Tequila?"  I answered "bad experience in college."  Well, I wrote about that experience in my yet-to-be- published book.  So, here it is!  (if I already posted this in the blog... oops)

Then:  "Lens" Fall 1986 (I have no pictures of me from 1988)

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Chap 2.122: One and Only Bluze

Saturday, March 12, 1988 McFarlane pleads guilty to deception

            The Mexicali Blues was an annual tradition which took place in the winter, usually a week or three after coming back from Xmas break.  Named after a Bob Weir/ Grateful Dead song, The Blues would always precede another event, like a party or a social.  The dining room was cleared of all but 2 tables by the pledges.  Several large garbage cans also were in the room. 

            The brotherhood would break up into 2 teams, playground style (2 captains picking one at a time).  Each team had a pony keg of beer and a fifth of tequila.  First team done both would win a keg of beer, an 8 ball of coke, a couple ounces of weed, and a couple of fifths of something.  Each team was allowed one “designated puker” (usually the first guy that puked).  If anyone else puked, they were out of the game. 

            My blues opportunity sang before a social with DG (and we remembered to lock the pantry.)  A new camera swung from my neck, ready to take pictures of the event.  Some of the brothers warmed up with bottles of beer.  The pledges cut many lemon wedges for the players.

The captains were Cliff (in his office as Psi), and Stoneman (the last Psi, as tradition dictated).  The two of them chugged a beer for the right to choose first.  Cliff won easily- Stoneman wasn’t a chugger, after all.

Cliff chose Windex, the fastest chugger in the house.  They high fived as Windex joined Cliff on one side of the room as other cheered and whooped.  Quickly, Stoneman made his first choice.  “Lens.”

I wasn’t sure that I heard him correctly, but I slowly took a couple of steps as the brothers cheered.  All my life, I’d never been chosen first for anything.  Always last.  Now, during a Hood event, I was first.  I confidently took the last few steps and high fived Stoneman.  As the teams filled rapidly, Cyborg smiled and said “We’ve definitely won the tequila side.  No one drinks like Lens.”

Our team also had Spuds- the second fastest chugger in the house, a couple other speedsters and a few hard core partiers, including Moonie.

I, along with Cyborg, Diner, and Motel, were assigned to the bottle of tequila.  There were plenty of lemons and salt.  I’d never had tequila before in my life, but how bad could it be? 

Bocchi started us off.  “Ready!  Set!  DRINK!” 

The beer was going quickly as the chuggers downed them at lightning speed. 

Motel poured triple shots of tequila, and we toasted the first one.  “Skull!”  UGH!  That was horrible!  After that, we were to refill at our own speed. 

Two.  Three.  Burp.  Four.  Ohhh.  Fiiive.  This sucks. 

Moonie jammed his head into a trash can and spewed.  There goes our puker.  He staggered and gamely accepted another beer.

Siiix.  Cyborg vomited all over the table.  Motel quickly followed in the trash can.  Holy shit.  The room spun.  Diner, leaning his gaunt frame on the table, poured a shot for himself, and finished the bottle with my shot.  I saw him pour half his shot down his Poison T-shirt and puke slowly dribbled down his chin.  He staggered to the trash can and lost it.

Seeeeevennnnn…  I dropped the glass, slumped against the wall and took pictures.  The room heaved wildly like it was a storm tossed ship.  I found a beer in my hand.  Stoneman, leaning on the table, shouted “Come on!  We can still win this!”  Everyone was slowing down.  Our bottle was finished, but theirs wasn’t!

Soon, people were vomiting out of every window in the room.  Somehow, the other team emptied that bottle.  I think Good finished it, as he fell through the kitchen door, gone for the night.

The other team finished their keg first and won.  Those still able stood and cheered, chanting “HOOD!  HOOD!  HOOD!”

The pledges that weren’t playing immediately moved in with mops.  I was carried from the room by two pledges as I couldn’t walk (having slid down the wall to a seated position) and taken to my room, where a trashcan was put before me.  My mind moved slowly.  I heard a constant tone in my ears.  I woke up a few hours later with my head in the trash can. 

So the hood was plenty drunk when the girls showed up.  The theme was, appropriately, Dead show, so they showed up in hippie gear and tie dyes. 

The next day I was so hung over I couldn’t move.  The day after that (Sunday) I was still hung over, and still dry heaving, but I was ambulatory.  Sunday night before rush dinner, I heard stories of horrified DGs, insulting brothers, broken doors and windows, and pledges (who were smart enough to play the “nice guy” role) scoring like crazy.  Monday, I still had a horrible headache, but made it to class.  Since then, I can’t even smell tequila or I feel woozy.  When pouring tequila as a bartender, I did it at arms length.

Now:  Sophie.  November 2015

The following Thursday night party, Cliff bragged loudly to a pledge that he doctored our beer tap to make it run slower, so our beer just wasn’t flowing fast as theirs.  He disassembled the tap, glued a BB in there, and put it back together.  The news spread through the house like wild fire.  Half the hood cornered him in Squirrel Shack and carried him to the bathroom for a swirley, but not before Stoneman pissed into that toilet.