I held a drink in each hand.
To make it through the crowd, I lifted my arms above my head.
A male of similar age and stature approached me. His breath smelled of schnapps and rum and tequila. Most would have only noticed the boozy smell, but I detected all three liquors. First, the schnapps. I imagined the man having an afternoon hot chocolate with his grandmother—his familial pre-game before his fraternal pre-game before coming to this bar and breathing in my face. Second, the rum. Cheap, spiced, and really not a bad option for a budgeted drinker with mounting student loan payments. The man’s breathing was accompanied by a silly smirk. Most certainly a rum-induced smirk. Not a whiskey smirk and not a vodka grin. Rum smirks are smug and entitled, as unintentional as they may be. Third, the tequila. Shots no doubt. Probably so many shots that it wasn’t hard to imagine this young man leaving his current endeavor of breathing on me to journey to the alley for a puke fest he may or may not remember.
I smiled at the man, a smile of goodwill and mutual understanding. My smile was hopeful, hoping that the happy drunk in front of me would be happy and drunk somewhere else. My arms were still raised, a whisky coke in one hand and a gin and tonic in the other. I was exposed to the world, hoping not to spill the overpriced libations above my head. The man took advantage of my precarious situation. He tickled my armpits. A grown adult acting like a small child, howling at his own clever action of tickling a perfect stranger dumb enough to carry his drinks above his head. The rum grin was now a tequila cackle. Liquid tipped from my glasses and splashed on the already liquor-soaked barroom floor. The man’s cackles took his face from mine and I, at last, had respite from his breath.
I made my way away from the man and towards a quieter corner of the room. A whiskey grin started to break across my face. Tickled. That guy just tickled me. This is why I drink, I thought. For the ridiculous and inane behavior we forsook after childhood and crave now.
The next day, during my hangover, I contemplated whether my current state was worth the tickling. I couldn’t tell.