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During their time as undergrads, a lot of men consider themselves utterly invincible when it comes to binge drinking every alcoholic concoction under the sun. Trashcan punch, Four Loko, tequila by the gallon, and even sidewalk slammers; if it contains alcohol, they will drink it in excess. While they’ll keep up this facade for as long as possible, it is simply a fact that every man has a breaking point when it comes to booze. The alcohol breaking point I’m referring to is not the quantity consumed, but rather the type consumed.
Deny it all you want, but everybody has at least one specific beverage which leaves them looking like a freshman girl at her first house party. I, like most sane human beings, absolutely despise gin. Call me a bitch, but I know at least half of you agree. One tragic case of this alcohol intolerance is highlighted by my pledge brother, who we’ll call Tim, and affects tens of thousands of college students (probably) across America.
Plain and simple, Tim cannot drink beer. This travesty has plagued Tim from pledgeship all the way through our third year as brothers and shows no signs of tapering off. Generous amounts of beer consumption is a cornerstone of a healthy fraternity brother’s diet, yet Tim’s shortcoming has led to handfuls of blackouts off of no more than a mere couple games of rage cage. No matter how much Tim denies this fact, he will never shake the ridicule he receives on a daily basis.
Perhaps the greatest mystery of this story is the fact that Tim is not a lightweight. Far too many times have I witnessed Tim down enough José to sedate even the most hardened alcoholics while he remains fully competent. Quick round of “don’t fuck your brother?” Tim will happily volunteer as the anchor, ready and willing to consume copious amounts of liquor for the squad. Stuck with a girl who can’t hang at date and a fifth? No problem; Tim will gladly finish 99% of the bottle without skipping a beat. Tim is the man you’d want in your trench if you were caught in a stalemate versus an army of hard liquor. But when the battle switches to beer, Tim is receiving a battlefield amputation after five.
One of my favorite memories of Tim’s beer intolerance comes from a specifically long day of beer drinking. It was during sorority rush, meaning we had to stick to a boys’ day of beer and general heinousness to fill the void. After a few too many rounds of Thunderstruck, a full nine-inning game of dizzy bat, and endless games of pong, I can speak for all the guys when I say we were well on our way to a blackout. As drunk as we were, I don’t believe there is a word in the English language to describe the level Tim was on.
As things slowed up, we came to the realization that Tim was nowhere to be found. There was a general lack of concern, though; drunk Tim had disappeared many times before, so we carried on with our antics.
Eventually the beer ran out and we decided to make a trip down to our local gas station to pick up some more cases. This is when we discovered Tim, fully asleep tits up in the center of campus looking like Jordan Belfort in the cerebral palsy phase of a quaaludes bender. After a long series of slaps and shakes to get him to come to, Tim arose and pulled out his phone only to reveal the most embarrassing part of his day: his missed call log tracked back about four hours, meaning he had been MIA far longer and after many less beers than we had presumed. A drunken investigation was launched, and our efforts clocked Tim at about eight beers and two hours of drinking before he called it quits in plain sight of the entire campus. Truly a disappointing effort by Tim.
Unless you suffer from this great dilemma like Tim, we should all be thankful for the ability to consume cheap light beer without a worry in the world. And to Tim, may you and all those like you one day finally grow out of your crippling beer intolerance..