Archive for November, 2007

Part 2 of An Anatomy of A Scene: Part 1

Beer is a complex thing.

The first sip is ok, depending on whether the beer is brain freeze cold (which is great) or room temperature warm (which isn’t so great). A few more sips and the taste starts to make itself at home with your taste buds. Three rounds later and you just can’t seem to wipe that silly smile off your face. By the fifth jug, you know for sure that whatever question gets passed your way, it can be answered with either a “YES!”, a “FIRE!” or a “FUCK YOU CAITA!”.

Throw in several like-minded individuals, the comfort of your mate’s house, and a very loud radio, and you’ve got the makings of an evening that cannot be predicted by even the most hardcore Grant’s Waterhouse regular.

When we left our buddies, they were still decided whether to hit the clubs while they still felt invulnerable, or stay back and continue ‘that good thing’. Decisions, decisions…

11:02pm: This is where everyone checks to see what the general mood of the session is…drunk enough to laugh the loudest? Or still sober enough to demand a few more rounds? Usually by this time the beer would have kicked in, and a curious itch to dance to anything played over the speakers will start to set in. Women are the first to get the ball rolling.

“Mai boys we go O’Reillys! Everyone we go mada and dance!”

“Fire, you girls go, us gang will just sit here mada and finish this box, then we’ll meet you gang out…”

11:35pm: The last round of beer has just been passed around for the guys who opted to stay back. A general consensus is reached.

“Vacava, more beer?”

“Fire. Put in mada…”

With money pooled, a quick trip to the local black market shop (or house, depending on where you get it from), and they’re back in business.

“Set. Spin the poison…”

11:50pm: With the music blaring loudly in the background, this is where the session takes another step up. The defining moment is when you can sing along with whatever song is played, and somehow, magically, you’re in tune with every syllable. And of course, everyone joins in, each to their own tune, a marvelous dis-harmony that sounds beautiful to the wasted, but encourages eyeball rolling from the neighbours.

“and SOOOOOOOOO SALLY CAN WAIT! SHE KNOWS ITS TOO LATE! CAUSE WE’RE OUT WALKING BY!!!”

12:11am: By now the beer has taken on a taste of its own, and somehow seems to be on par with water even. A necessary evil. If you’re the one doing the ‘taki’, and you’ve missed someone, prepare to get your ears severely trounced, if not by the victim, then by everyone else in the circle.

“Osobo you missed me bro!”

“Ah? Saaa kua ni lasu brotha, I’m sure I taki already to you – “

“Oi oi whats the matter you sa want to mamaqi the beer? Oooooh don’t be one boci magaichinamu and just taki mai this way eh?”

1:20am: The clubbers who left earlier in the night to dance away the alcohol arrive with a few more cartons! Joy and cheers ensure. However, the clubbers have brought a few more guests, usually uninvited, and unknown. Careful greetings are passed around, with the usual invites to sit down and join in the festives.

“Hey and these are my workmates – Elvin, Jope and Andrew.”

“Oooh bula bula mai mai come sit down. Qori, taki master! Totola mada and taki one quick one to the new gang.”

2:12am: Since the clubbers and their accompanying guests were already under the influence, it doesn’t take for everyone to relax with everyone else, and acquaintances are quickly made, thanks in part to the influx of alcohol.

It is also at this time that the Witching hour begins, as whoever’s been putting on the moves on the other sex now slide in for the kill, and with a few deft suggestions, disappear outside/bedroom/kitchen for awhile.

Knowing glances are exchanged, and a few laughs ensure, followed by a few cat calls.

“Hey hey make sure you don’t break the bed eh?”

“Be wise – dou vei cais!”

3:30am: This is officially the survival mode time. If someone is still awake and hasen’t yet:

a) passed out in the bedroom

b) passed out in the kitchen

c) vomited outside for the past 2 hours

d) left to screw someone

…then congratulations! He/she’s either a regular, an alcoholic, or unlucky Now shut up and take that serve of beer, there’s plenty more from where that came from…

4:23am: Ah, disagreements. Where would our drinking sessions be without them? Sure, no one likes to go through with it (at least for me…don’t know about the rest of you violent types), but there are some things in life that are about as certain as Fiji coups and losing to someone/anyone in the finals of the rugby 7s.

Basically it goes like this:

BOOZE + PEOPLE OTHER THEN YOU + HOURS = SCRAP

There are a near unlimited number of reasons as to why we fight, barring of course international terrorism and new Britney Spears court hearings. Girls, inflated egos, disagreements over whos rugby team will reach the finals, anything is fuel for a fight when you’re drunk.

In our case, ownership of the recently acquired beer brought in by the newcomers comes under scrutiny, and tempers flare. Violence is only a fist throw away…

“…you know that when you bring beer to the house it belongs to the house? uh? HUH?”

“Fuck you caita I bought that beer with my fucking money, so that fucking beer belongs to me magaichinana! I’m taking my beer out and leaving this shithole!”

“Don’t you fucking call my home that! Get the fuck out before I -”

“Before you what huh? Sona lev -”

Insert appropriate fight, and this is where everyone has several choices. Either join in, yell and try and stop it, or continue vomiting in the corner of the garden outside. Your choice.

5:55am: The last visitor is chased/kicked/dragged out of the premises. The last few bottles are finished off quickly as the sun rises to greet the party goers. It’s time to hit the sack and help your liver recover from the assault the night before. Of course, there will always be someone who just won’t go hit the sack, insisting that there’s a beer bottle still unopened somewhere in the fridge, and that the taki master wasn’t quite as on top of his game as he’d like the rest of us to believe.

“Caita Jim sarauta mada there’s no more beer!”

“Fuck man, I know for sure saraga for sure I saw one full one saraga sitting in the fridge somewhere here. Don’t worry about me man, just go sleep i’ll look around for it…”

7:30am: Of course you didn’t reach the bedroom, choosing instead to sleep on the lovely hard, wooden floor. It would have been a blissful morning sleep-in if it wasn’t for the fact that you are woken up by the sound…of porn.

There’s something to be said about being woken up in the morning by the sight and sound of some blond getting fucked on screen while some guy is drinking (guess there really was one last beer bottle) and watching at the same time with a straight poker face that could be watching The Simpsons.

From here on out, depending on what day you’re waking up in, it’s either more alcohol, more sleep, or a hap-hazard combination of both. Nothing is ever sure here in Fiji. Not even something as straight forward as drinking at home.

Your sore knuckles will attest to that.