This weekend I have boldly gone where I have never gone before. I went to a German tent. It is funny considering the fact that I do come from a German heritage that I have never been in a German tent before, but this was honestly the best new experience I have ever had.
Let me make it very clear. I have been in my share of beer tents before. Fuck all that. After being in a German tent, the beer tent is for pussies. Inside the hallowed walls of the German tent, one will witness things like men in lederhosen, women dressed in traditional German attire that always seems to be cut to showcase their cleavage, polka music that only gets better with the more you drink, every kind of wurst you can imagine, and last but not least, the beer.
Thick dark German beer that is served in a glass stein by the half gallon. This stuff doesn’t play around. The best part was, it was only six dollars a stein. As the evening began I just sort of phased out the polka music in the background and concentrated on drinking and eating. By the time I finished my second stein however I was singing along with all of the songs in fluent German. The thing is I don’t even know how to speak German.
There were four songs they played multiple times though, and during any one of those songs the crowd was encouraged to chug their stein. Which I did. Every time. Until I could no longer feel my legs. The songs were, In Heaven There is No Beer, The Chicken Dance (We want more beer), The Hokey Pokey, The Flying Dutchmen, The Beer Toast, and most importantly, Who the Hell is Alice.
By my fourth drink, or for those of you playing the home game, my second gallon, I could not feel my eye balls. I had become very loud, my speech was beginning to slur. I was openly making fun of cowboys with their pants way to tight, and having chugging contests with the dude across the table from me. He thought he was a hard ass because he was in the Air Force and spent time in Germany drinking German beer. What he didn’t realize is I can drink beer from anywhere on Earth in mass quantities, and still keep drinking. Well in to the fifth stein, his eyes were drooping and he couldn’t lift his stein. He walked off presumably to vomit, and I never saw him again.
I walked back over to the food area and order two bratwursts and a knockwurst. I covered them in cheese and ketchup and ate them quickly, then I went back to the beer counter for stein number six. I walked back to the table, beer in my hand and a belly full of pork, when I noticed out of the corner of my eye a giant chair. It was built for a giant, and people were taking pictures of their bratty little kids on it. I decided that since I am a giant, I was sitting on it. I sat in the giant chair, swinging my stein from side to side, singing along with all of the songs, and convincing myself I was the king of the German tent.
After finishing stein six, or gallon three, what ever makes you feel better, things started to blur together. The remaining events of that night have no details to me, but I know for a fact I kept drinking, and kept consuming pork. Apparently the last time I sang Who the Hell is Alice, I actually said something along the line of Woodee Ellishalish. I also know for a fact that I was supposed to meet my dad at his truck at the end of the night, but I couldn’t remember where he parked in the lot. So I stumbled around for about a half hour until he spotted me and came and got me. Apparently I was urinating in public beside some car with people in it. According to all accounts I urinated in this parking lot about four times. I am fairly certain I didn’t piss on myself.
I went home that night, ate four tacos and a quesadilla and passed out. I woke up the next morning at 4:30 AM feeling like a million bucks, which means my liver is still working. I took a shower and went on with the rest of my day, but I will never forget, The German Tent.