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Road Trip
Hello Goodbye
To toast a couple of key personnel movements, we go bar-hopping and beer-guzzling
Words by Vernon B. Sarne
Look what I found in my beer
A couple of dancing ladies and a ticket out of here
Look what I found in my beer
A start to being lonely and an end to my career
Look what I found in my beer
A free test drive for a heart I cannot steer.
- THE BEAUTIFUL SOUTH
Journalists are a booze-loving bunch. And automotive journalists are no different. We gargle alcohol every chance we get. We drink when it's payday; we drink when we're broke. We drink before a deadline; we drink especially after a deadline. We drink with PR officers; we drink without PR officers. Well, you get the picture.
Because we drink for no reason at all, imagine what we'll do if there's the slightest hint of a valid excuse. Like the departure of a teammate and the arrival of another. Roll out the barrel, baby!
As soon as we learned that managing editor Conch was leaving us for another professional gig, we knew we had to spend a night just drinking ourselves silly. Add to this the fortuity of getting a senior art director in Jaykee, and the decision to go binge drinking was a no-brainer. Consider this our tribute to the great Oktoberfest. Like I said, we could always come up with a pathetic alibi to give our vice some cloak of legitimacy.
So we devised an itinerary Alcoholics Anonymous would kill to have. We'd hop from one bar to another, downing two bottles of San Mig Light at each stop. We'd keep at it as long as there were drinkers left taking courageous swigs. The last guy standing stood to get a Subaru polo shirt, courtesy of an alcoholic friend whose name shall remain, um, anonymous.
Of course, we needed a ride. Something big enough to accommodate the entire team.
No problem. CATS Motors sent a hulking Dodge Durango, though I'm pretty sure they would have thought twice about handing it over to us had they known we were going to use it for a bar-hopping spree. But the responsible motorists that we were, we made sure we designated a driver who wouldn't imbibe a single drop of alcohol. And that was Dinzo, a guy who possesses a drinker's body but a pastor's mentality. Mela also didn't drink and she ended up engaging Dinzo in an iced-tea drinking contest.
From our humble office in Ortigas, we motored to Seventy-Seven Café on Kamuning Road in Quezon City. This is one of Conch's favorite watering holes, and she told us it was so named because it had originally been located at No. 77 Hemady Street, also in QC. After we marveled at the owners' creativity, we got right down to business: a beer each for myself, Conch, Jaykee, Joel, Drew and publisher Neil. Dinzo and Mela, meanwhile, commenced their sugar-loaded competition.
Seventy-Seven Café is actually just an old house turned into a hip bar, complete with tables and sofas that wouldn't look out of place in your own living room. It did feel so much like home. Only the presence of good-looking ladies convinced me I wasn't actually at my own place.
After some loud banter and two large plates of kropek, we were ready to move on to our next stop. All six beer-drinkers easily cleared the two-bottle quota. Joel—in an obvious attempt to intimidate his rivals—even finished off a glass of rum coke.
Two bottles? That was it? Give us the next two!
We decided to get the second pair from Beluga, a favorite among budget-conscious Summit employees on Katipunan Avenue. Thankfully, the karaoke room was already occupied. Otherwise, we wouldn't have left that place even if that meant screwing this
Road Trip story
At this point, Mela was trying to catch up with Dinzo's five glasses of iced tea. Meanwhile, Jaykee and Drew became the first casualties after just their third bottles. What a shame. I actually expected to compete with Drew up to the very last drop, he with a beer belly that could have only been sculpted after years of hardcore drinking. Beluga is inexpensive, perfect for those nights when your ATM has already slipped into a coma. I mean, if you find P27 beer expensive, you have no right to be drinking in the first place.
Conch's goal on this evening was to get everyone so drunk that we'd eventually spill the beans on who our respective crushes in the office were. A goal she wouldn't achieve after just four bottles of beer. If Dinzo's iced tea had even just one percent alcohol, I'm sure he would have valiantly declared his affection for a member of the Cosmopolitan staff. But that's another story.
And so we left Beluga with only myself, Joel, Conch and Neil still in the thick of fight.
Next stop was Pilita's Restaurant & Deli Bar in Greenhills, San Juan. Yes, you read it right. Pilita. As in the hip-bending singing legend. We went there with the hope of drinking with Kuya Germs. And then we could convince other customers that the Friday edition of That's Entertainment was having a reunion.
Alas, there was no German Moreno in sight. Not even Pilita herself. But with the inebriated state that we were all in, it didn't matter.
What mattered was the good company, even the good Eighties music that was blaring from our portable iPod speaker. We gulped, we talked, we gulped again. Presumably to permanently avoid the topic of Conch's imminent adieu. Sergio Mendes was f*cking right: The trouble with hello is goodbye.
It was Conch's turn to surrender after her fifth bottle. In the end—after everyone had agreed to call it a night—Neil, Joel and I were left standing, all having downed seven San Mig Lights.
Weeks after that happy night of debauchery, nobody remembers the Subaru shirt that was supposed to be the prize. All we remember are the happy days when Conch walked and laughed and sang and wrote among us. We know our beer will never taste the same again.
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Top Gear Philippines - October 2006
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