The headline for today’s post is stolen from a blog I follow. I have lost count on how many times I’ve felt the urge to steal that tag line… Settling for using it for a single post instead.
Seeing this hilarious picture on Facebook yesterday threw me back in time, and had me laughing for quite a while. Retelling the whole ordeal to my mother today, I remembered even more, and decided that I have to try and write it down so that others can have a laugh as well. This will be a great exercise for me in retelling what can only be described as chaos.
The story begins at my old student organisation Nylands nation. That’s where most of my stories begun, or ended, during some wild years in the first decade of this century. Anyway. I was attending yet another fancy dress party, the theme being farmers or something similar. Most people were wearing all sorts of dirty looking jeans and square patterned shirts, combined with wellies and caps with pictures of tractor logos. In short, we all looked like a bunch of hillbillies. All except our dear “kurator” (the highest ranked elected representative at a student nation in the Nordic countries) Big-D, who was wearing a suit. He mumbled something about pretending to be the landowner. Right. Okay. If you say so…
As it were, the people who had been in charge of the seating arrangements, didn’t know Big-D that well. He was a little bit older, and mature, than the rest of us. Or so they thought. Bottom line, they didn’t really know where to put him, but they gathered I could deal with him, seeing as I seemed to know him from before. They clearly didn’t know what they were doing…
About halfway through the dinner, for reasons I do not remember any more, Big-D thought our discussions were disrupted all the time by one person in particular, namely the bartender. Not only were his actions (i.e. getting out of his seat to pour schnapps to thirsty party people) disruptive, his silly outfit was apparently extremely disturbing, and the only thing missing from it, according to Big-D, was a tea bag.
Big-D takes a tea bag from the tray that had already been set on the table, soaks it in his water, and says that next time the bartender (who was seated a couple of tables away) gets up, he will get a tea bag in his face. Big-D was laughing at his own great plan already, and truth be told, so was I.
The bloke gets up. Ready, aim, shoot… Big-D throws the tea bag, which flies through a burning candle. The soaked part continues, but as the unsuspecting bartender bends down before it reaches him, it goes over his head, landing in the cleavage of a girl (who attended a dinner at NN for the first, and probably last, time). Of course she flew up, screaming – no one in her table understanding why, no one at the whole party understanding why really.. The last I saw of her she was running to the cloak room.
Meanwhile, back at our table, the paper part of the whole thing, catches fire (remember it went through a flame) and lands in my friend’s red wine just as she was about to take a zip. With a “hey!” she instead uses her right hand (which was aiming for the glass) to pick up a cherry tomato from her plate and throw it at Big-D, who is innocently slumping down his chair after seeing the poor girl in table one taking a hit.
Zooming in on our side of the table, I’m laughing so hard I was choking, and a bit tipsy from all the schnapps I decide to drown my face in the flannel sleeve of my cousin sitting on my right hand side. Moving up from my weird position, I somehow manage to push my beer so it falls over, drips and drops landing on Big-D. Combined with my snorting sound, he assumes I just sneezed on him, and he starts yelling something about me having a terrible upbringing [sic!]
So here we have a situation with a screaming girl and a bartender looking seriously WTF? in table one. In table three we have one woman trying to get ashes out of her red wine, and another literally weeping when trying to convince people it was her beer flying around just now. In table two we have a bunch of people having no idea why the sudden mayhem.
Big-D headed to the restroom, and when returning he looked awfully determined. He sat down and looked at me, who had finally stopped laughing, and told me that he has an earnest question, and he expects me to tell the absolute truth. The question was “did you really sneeze?” I started laughing again, trying to say no, and he waited patiently until I had finished. Then he said, still serious to the nth degree, “Okay. I believe you. Even though it still doesn’t explain… Well, I mean.. I know you are capable of many splendid things, but not even you.. Not even you, Chia, can magically sneeze a cherry tomato into my breast-pocket…”