a little coffee

6:15 last night. I’m in the kitchen taking out veggies to prepare for dinner when the phone rings. It’s Robert, saying a friend of his, a Chinese man named Mr. Wang, is visiting from New Zealand and would Chris and I like to join them for dinner?  Sure! I needed a break from the Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Angel Chris has cajoled me into watching. Besides, we’d love some merrymaking with good Doodle food. Off we went to the private room of a nice restaurant where a few of Mr. Wang’s friends would join us. They included three deans from the university and an old classmate/friend of Mr. Wang’s.

The night began slowly as we waited for the two most important guests to arrive. A few small dishes,  some getting-to-know-you chit chat, a few toasts where only a sip of bai jiu was required (I pretended to drink the black licorice battery acid). And then VOOM!

The two important quests arrive and the booze never stops flowing.

It’s been months since Chris or I had taken part in a genuine Doodle-style dinner so it had slipped my mind exactly what merrymaking would entail. A little bai jiu, and lots and lots of beer and toasting and more beer.

The individual toasts is what get’s you. And the larger the group, the more people that need to do the toasts. This is when one person stands up and goes to every other person, says a few nice things, like “Christina, it’s nice to meet you. I hope you’re having a good time. If you need anything, please call me.” I’m obliged to polish off not one, but THREE full glass of beer. Ganbei! Empty your glass! And I’m Alison trying to shotgun a beer in The Sure Thing, sputtering through foam as the cold liquid stings my throat and makes my tongue thick with fuzz.

Thanks to Robert, I managed to weazel out of a glass of beer twice, which would prove lucky later. “This is your second or third glass?” Dean Qin asks. “This is her fourth,” says Robert. “Yeah,” I perk up. “My fourth.” “No, no. Maybe three.” “NO!” Robert says in his aggressively confident way, “This is her fourth.” Finally, the dean (who is basically my boss) picks up the pitcher of beer, nearly spilling and staggers on to Chris. Hee hee. (It really was three).

Suddenly, it’s almost 10:00. Chris, Robert and I have been blabbering about travel, Jesus, abortion, BBC documentaries between ganbeis as the other Chinese men, arms resting on each other’s shoulders clink their little bai jiu cups and guffaw.  Robert is insisting that we three will take a cab back home instead of letting the slightly inebriated driver take us. I think we shakes hands or say good-bye to our hosts before I pitch myself in the direction of the door, arms wrapped around Chris and it’s me trying to steer him to a taxi in the dark, in the rain. It’s early yet, we’re all too drunk from peer pressure to go to sleep so we decide to play cards for a while. But as we step out of the cab into the blessedly cool night, my arm wrapped around Chris, he suddenly stops near the sidewalk and wretches into a puddle.

“Guess cards are off,” Robert says. “Yeah, looks like it,” I reply as Chris heaves again. He takes off ahead of us as I stear through the puddles, feeling now even more glad that I drank less, and got us up the five flights of stairs to home.