by J. Paxton

Created on: December 08, 2008

One of my favorite stories about airline travels come from my best friend. While I was having adventures in Italy for a semester, she chose to go to Germany. Her colleagues and she often traveled on the weekends to various countries as a part of her program, in an effort to expose them to as many of political systems of Eastern Europe as possible.

The story takes place in Lebanon, six hours before a red-eye flight back to what was now known as home, Freiburg. The group of young Americans decided that just because they were due at the airport soon, that shouldn't stop them from enjoying a Saturday night abroad. And so the usual weekend festivities were initiated (aka, bar-hopping without knowing a word of the language).

However, one particular individual, who shall be known as Jeffery (to save him some embarrassment and perhaps his passport), was more enthusiastic than the rest. It soon became clear it was going to take a team effort to pass him off as a tired, quirky American, rather than simply a belligerently inebriated American.

Things seemed to be going pretty well-and then came the security checkpoint. There was a collective inward groan as the guard pulled the damning evidence: a flask. Not only that, but a flask filled with vodka. Jeffery was alone on this one.

An interpreter came to join the scene. After some quick words with the guard, she asked, "What is in this?"

Jeffery, in all his drunken wisdom, quickly came up with a story that was not quite foolproof: "Water," he said, confidently.

More whispered words. The rest of the group watched him with bated breath. Then the judgement: "Drink it."

Jeffery shrugged. "Sure." He valiantly took a swig and rolled his eyes, as if this whole thing was the most ridiculous thing he had ever been subjected to. It was a wonderful performance.

"No. ALL of it."

There was silence, except for an audible gulp from Jeffery. Even in his intoxicated state of mind, he knew the consequences: if he couldn't prove it was water, if he WAS caught with alcohol, if he gave any indication of his true condition, he was not getting back to Germany any time soon. (Plus, being in a country where you don't speak a word of the language makes every minor situation about twenty times scarier.) So he did the only thing he could do:

"OK."

And so Jeffery manned up and brought the flask to his lips. It was some sick version of a shot, only far much more potent and no chaser-and on top of an already wild night. His eyes were screwed shut, and the only thought that could run across anyone's mind was oh God keep it down keep it down....

He reached the last drop and placed it back down on the conveyor belt. Slowly his eyes opened, and he managed a pitiful smile. "Is that all, ladies?" It was all his peers could do from cheering out-loud as the guard and interpreter grudgingly nodded.

Of course, this story couldn't possibly end with an "happily ever after"-Jeffery apparently spent the entire flight in the cramped cabin bathroom and was feeling the repercussions of his night in Lebanon for a day or two after the fact. However, he did successfully go down in history for everyone that happened the be present that night-and obviously, even those who weren't.

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