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Tuesday, June 17, 2008

My eyes (pt II)

There are some things that no matter what your state of sobriety and outlook on life you just never need to see. A well dressed lady in light summery dress and linen jacket, apparently out all day wandered out past the front door after only about 5 minutes inside the place. This lady then takes a seat on the doorstep of the neighbouring business and takes off her shoes. Why women and shoes don't agree will never make sense to me. After 5 minutes or so I look back over to see her still sitting on the step, throwing up vigorously. Not a quick little vomit but pints and pints of alcohol laced chunky stuff. More and more of it. After about a minute of near continuous retching there was a good sized mound of the lumpy stuff and the rest was dripping off the kerb to the drain. While she was doing this, she'd gotten slightly more disarrayed than when she left. Her hair at the front was dripping, her jacket cuffs had caught some collateral damage as she tried to hold her hair back. On a light linen jacket it was very obvious. Her posture had slid from sitting to squatting, showing her thong and all that was not covered by it to all and sundry passing by. Potentially erotic were it not for the seemingly endless vomit now piled near her feet.

This in itself is highly unpleasant but not the kind of thing a doorman is unprepared for.
This 'lady' then regains her dignified pose upon the doorstep. The real problem however was the shoes, now filled with chunky warm stomach contents. Don't worry, she calmly grabs them from the pile and shakes the chunks out and holds them to drip for a while. This can only get worse as her partner emerges and asks if we've seen her. We direct him to the doorstep where she's recovering. She hops to her feet, which were dry, gives him a peck on the cheek, hops back into her shoes which were dripping wet and wanders on.
This left me with only the mound of vomit to catch out of the corner of my eye until the bucket of hot soapy water came and sent the chunks floating down the gutter slowly past my post on the front door.


Anonymous said...

Yours is a top blog. I look forward to your postings; they are a fascinating and accurate look at life in the raw.
Keep it up.

AchooBlessYou said...

It never is fun or easy to ask/tell vomiting drunkards ( whom insist, I'm fine, I'll be okay) to move. What might the legal restrictions be for public intoxication in your side of the world?

Adoor Man said...

Hi man, the law's pretty open to the whim of the local force. In the city centre street drinking is prohibited but in term of being drunk it's usually a section 5 public order offence. This is usually a blue light taxi ride then an £80 fine when you sober up. It can be a drunk and disorderly conviction or a drunk and incapable though these are really only used if you've properly annoyed the plod.
The other measure used against persistent drunks, more often the homeless-alcholic-disturbed, is the anti-social behavior order ASBO which can prohibit folk from specific places or activities.

achooblessyou said...

We just hate vomit in our club because it stinks up on the carpet even after the cook( yep the one who handles food, a damn good one too ) is asked to clean it up, when the bathroom valet normally does it as long as he is tipped. Our management is very intelligent, simply for not making me handle it. =P