THE DAY I GOT DRUNK

Some years ago my parents came to Chile to visit us. Their idea was to show me the city of San Carlos de Bariloche, in Argentina, where I was born. I was 20 days old when they moved and I had never been back.

We drove from Santiago de Chile, visiting different places along the road. When night came, we were in Neuquen, Argentina. Dad knew of a good restaurant and so we decided to have supper and spend the night there and get into Bariloche early in the morning. It was a typical restaurant, where they served exotic meats like deer, wild pig and some other meat.

We all ate to our heart’s content and then we checked into the hotel for a good night sleep. Everyone but me. I spent the night in the floor, hugging the toilet, sick to my stomach like never before in my life, praying for God to either take me or to heal me.

Early in the morning, Dad announced it was time to continue to Bariloche. We arrived so early that no restaurant was open yet. The only place open for breakfast was at the railroad station restaurant.

Sharon and my parents asked for a big breakfast, while all I wanted was to lay down somewhere. The waiter asked what was wrong with me. They explained my situation and he said: “I have the perfect cure for him” and served me a glass of some dark green mysterious liquid. I was so desperate I drunk the whole glass in one gulp. The waiter looked at me and said: “incredible!” That liquid burned all the way down and then, in a matter of seconds, it went to my head and I got drunk for the first and only time in my life. I had no idea that liquid was liquor made out of artichokes.

Drunk, I demanded to be taken to my hotel room. Dad refused, telling me that the best thing for me was to walk it out. Against my will, I was taken outside for a walk.

My dad crossed over to the other sidewalk, so not to be seen with me. Sharon and my mom walked several yards behind me, both of them laughing at me and giggling like young high school girls. I was trying to keep my balance leaning on walls, light posts and trees.

I remember thinking: “at least no one knows me here.” I didn’t finish that thought when some one yelled: “pastor Italo, pastor Italo.” My dad crossed the street running to intercept them. Sharon and mom run up to talk to that young couple that was in Bariloche for their honeymoon, while I was trying to keep my balance and composure, leaning on a light post and smiling real big.

The picture included in this blog was taken by my wife.