|
As Dan returned, he regaled his fellow challengers with details of the liquidity and viscosity of his purge. Not to mention the volume! Andrew, who had made a quick, fast sprint from the start line in hopes of being able to take a rest halfway through was now slowing down at the 2 litre mark and beginning to sympathize with the way Dan had looked. In this time the others caught up and overtook him. However, before Andrew could dazzle the rest of them with his regurgitation skills, Ian chugged his glass, put it down looking a little funny, jumped up and yelled "Gentle Jesus!" before tearing off for the bathroom. Apparently the splash had been so loud they heard it through the bathroom door, across the hall and through the kitchen door to their table. Ian, in turn, returned to confirm Dan's findings with great glee.
The Toole and Mike had had a close race to the finish line. But engineer Mike soon bowed out, regurgitating the 2.5 litres he had managed. Toole, the RA, was right behind him. He had come the closest - outdoing Mike by a glass - putting him but a few glasses short of the 3 litre mark. So close, yet so far. Toole could not go on but he was to disqualify himself from the race in a different matter. As he himself put it: "I don't even care about this contest anymore; I just want this feeling to go away." Taking to the large, private handi-cap washroom he released his bowels. And while he assured the others that it was neither chocolaty nor liquidy, it nonetheless disqualified him from the race. At this time, I pointed out the irony of the Residence Assistant, the supposed adult and role-model of the floor, hosting an event in which everyone pukes. He shrugged it off.
And now the lone hero remaining was Andrew. Spectators had counted him out long ago when he had slowed nearly to a halt. Andrew was of thin build and on the short side of average height. As the second smallest of the group, next to the curiously small Dan, Andrew was not of the finest stock in this mad challenge where height and girth are crucial. And yet, here he stood, the lone remaining contender - a beacon of hope to all those who thought it could be done! But with ten minutes left it appeared the contest was unofficially over: As we stood here in the hallway now, Andrew's face was a deathly grim thing. He didn't join the conversation. He just leaned against the wall and looked the whitest shade of green imaginable. It looked like it pained him greatly to even manage a smile. Just looking at him made you feel ill. He brought new meaning to the phrase 'puke face.' He would drink no more.
However, as we joked and laughed in the hallway, his spirits raised. He made some jokes and colour came back to his face. He felt better, finally. But, apparently, all that chocolate milk doesn't just go to the stomach. When you drink that much the excess must go to the brain. It is the only way of explaining Andrew's belief, in the last 10 minutes of the hour, having just recovered from serious and painful chocolate milk induced illness, that he could finish off the last litre. Apparently even excruciating illness isn't enough to convince one that it cannot be done. Refilling his glass, Andrew sipped slowly as he chatted with us in the hallway, joking and discussing the intricacies of the challenge. Andrew was back to his usual, sarcastic, sardonic, witty, stubborn self again. Andrew sipped very slowly and cautiously. But after only a few sips he suddenly went very white (whiter than before, if imaginable). He quickly and discreetly slipped away to the bathroom where what followed can only be described as an epic struggle between man and toilet. Ultimately, Man survived the gruelling ordeal - he did not puke! - but spent nearly an hour bowled over the bowl.
As Andrew, who I am indebted to for helping me put this story to paper, puts it in his own words:
|
