A Christmas I Want to Forget
by A true story about the consequences of a senseless decision made just before Christmas in 1957 which could have been postponed for several months. An account how you can be alone but not lonely and regret to have done it…
Those who did not drink were allowed to leave early. After everybody had a drink there was still some liquor left so the bosses suggested that we can come back for more until it lasted. I did just that and tried each brand once or twice. I did not have a car and all I had to do was walk up an icy street to my place about fifteen minutes away.
I began to feel the impact of alcohol on an empty stomach soon after I left the warehouse and began climbing the snowed-up street. Weaving a drunken walk and sliding on ice it took much longer to reach the center of town but I realized that I have to eat and keep warm to recover my bearings.
A few minutes later I was passing a popular tavern and noticed a sign outside offering a free drink with a special Christmas Eve meal. Without hesitation I entered the place. It included a long bar, a Christmas tree, numerous tables and was not crowded at all. I chose a table near a large fireplace and felt that I arrived where I should be. I ordered the special which included fish appetizers, hot soup, Quebec’s Tourtiere meat pie, ravioli with mushrooms, potatoes and cheesecake. These foods reminded me of the traditional Christmas Eve meals I have known in previous years.
After a while I was not sure where I was. I began to imagine I am with family and friends and mumbled incoherently to myself. I think I ordered more drinks which did not help my condition. I lost control and sense of time. In drunken stupor I just kept eating, drinking and dozing off on the table in between. And then I remembered that at the end of this day we always went to Midnight Mass…
“It’s midnight,” the waiter shouted in my ear and roughly lifted my head from the table. “We’re closing. Out you go.”
With the help of another person they picked me up and dragged me to the double door and pushed me out into the bitter cold and icy street.
“There’s a bus station just a few blocks from here,” one of them said. “It’s open all night. That’s where you belong…”
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