Battling Scenarios and Fighting Tactics

One evening, I found myself back in the realm of bar brawls due to sheer stupidity. It wasn’t a typical scenario, as I was just leaving work when a drunk individual provoked me. He believed that a confrontation outside would settle the matter. The moment we stepped out, a blow from the back of his hand caught me off guard. I almost immediately hit the ground, dazed but not out. A decision was made, and it was to engage further - which we did. The fight began. While I had been out of such confrontations for ten solid years, my instincts kicked in, and I managed to regain control. However, when I felt those fists land a couple of times against my face, something primed by years of pent-up aggression stirred within me. Before I knew it, I seemed to be hitting him rather savagely and quickly.

The crowd around us was shocked and perhaps even intimidated by the swift escalation. As I finally got to my feet, I was taken down by several strangers who seemed determined to prevent a more severe outcome. The individual I had been fighting was more than ready to back away, his defense now nonexistent. It was as if he couldn’t process effectively the situation any longer. Even up close, I almost thought I saw a blinding series of stars above his head, signs of a severe blow. The fight was over as soon as it began, and I walked back into the bar, lickety-split.

Weeks earlier, I was subjected to the gaze of the local barkeep, who remarked with a mix of amusement and chirpiness, “Whatd it take for you to remember how to fight?” I confessed that it had been some time, and he confirmed, “You really fucked him up.” I replied, “Good.

However, for the smaller, weaker individual, such impatience can be both a blessing and a curse. I’ve learned the value of putting in extra effort to avoid being hit, and even more so, to avoid hitting others if I can help it.

The Cost of Boozy Adventures

Alcohol consumption is a personal affair, and I generally avoid the conventional method of consuming it at bars or liquor stores. I often buy my alcohol from the nearest supermarket, a place called ‘Food Lion,’ which – granted – is not exactly the epitome of elegance and refinement. But hey, I don’t judge, and I’m not the kind who indulges in fancy, pricy wines. Instead, I stick to cheaper, yet equally satisfying options like a ten-bottle case of Pinot Grigio. It gets the job done, and I can afford it.

However, there are times when I venture into the local ABC store, the official state liquor store, for some bourbon to use in a recipe, or for hosting company. Each time, I’m struck by the same sobering realization: how expensive alcohol truly is.

Panic Purchase and a Tasty Bet

At the tender age of 18, life was a series of wild adventures, many of which seemed botched. On one such memorable night, I found myself in Niagara Falls, New York – a place I would later move to in Ontario, where the legal drinking age was 21. I was urged to take a challenge at a bar that served a particular cocktail blending seven different varieties of rum. A more prudent person would have declined, doubtful of the concoction’s potency. However, being a tall, skinny individual more than a few years away from the legal limit, I figured I might as well take the chance.

It was called a Zombie, and its reputation indeed lived up to its name. It was no less than a potent mixture that left me reeling. This wasn't just alcohol; it was a storm that seemed to bring along a surreal adventure. In those initial moments, I could feel my senses sharpened, perhaps due to the peculiar cocktail that danced through my veins. Despite the warnings and scepticism, I found myself unquestioningly lapping it up, perhaps out of curiosity more than anything else. When the effects of the Zombie became apparent, I was left to ponder the artistry of mixology and the unpredictable nature of life, with a newfound appreciation for the sober reality it always taught us.