The Comfy Corner

So I had a strug today that probably out-strugged my struggest strugs all summer. My friend Anthony left a bottle of whiskey in my car (we had made a trip to New Hampshire where there is no sales tax on liquor, and when in Rome, right?) so, like a good friend, I thought that I would get it out of my trunk and bring it to him. Only trouble was, I was going to have to carry it while I was biking. I have a basket on the back of my bike, so I thought, "No problem, I'll just put it in the basket."

At first, there wasn't any problem. I successfully biked to the diner where I had a lovely strug-free breakfast (with this giant bottle of whiskey sitting right next to my chair. After all, I couldn't leave it with my bike! Homeless people don't mess around with free alcohol.), and then, after I left the diner, I attempted to re-mount my bicycle. I put the bottle in the basket, I threw my bag over my shoulder, I threw my leg over my bike and then the worst thing happened - the basket fell off the back of my bike and the whiskey fell to the concrete. All of this happened in front of Toro, the most hoppin', people-packed tapas restaurant in town. Everyone was pointing at me and staring at me and laughing cruel laughs (that's how I remembered it anyways). I could see there eyes just judging and questioning my every move "Why is the young man carrying around a big bottle of whiskey at noon?" Amazingly, the bottle didn't break, but the cork did come out and as I was struggling to get off my bike and run around it to put down the kick stand, expensive liquor was pouring out onto the hot pavement. All I can hope is that some dog or some desperate homeless man was able to drink it up before it evaporated.

I finally got the bottle up, corked it, and put it more securely in the basket and successfully mounted the bike without another spill. As soon as I biked a few meters, however, I realized that I left my bike lock lying on the ground of the crime scene. I went back to whiskey puddle and the cruel laughter and picked up the lock. When I looked at the patio of Toro, everyone was looking at me. The air reeked of hot whiskey, my hands reeked of hot whiskey, my face...reeked of shame. I got the bottle to campus only to realize that I wasn't allowed to bring a huge bottle of whiskey into the dorms (I stupidly forgot that was a rule...) I handed off the bottle to Vanessa who was heading back to her apartment and I accepted my defeat...I had failed. Anthony, if he ever gets his whiskey back, will not be getting much back.