Had a great experience while in senior year high school when I worked in a bowling alley. It was a huge house, 56 lanes on three levels. Lower level had 28 lanes and a service and snack bar, a mid level with the desk, meeting and locker rooms, game room, full service snack bar, and a lounge called the “Boom Boom Room” with a Caribbean Island motif.
The third floor was similar to the lower floor with another 28 lanes and service bars.
I worked there for three years, even part time for the summer after my freshman year at college. It was so much fun because I got to work almost every job in the place, except as one of the mechanics who spent their shifts behind the machines, running down problems while the house was in full swing, especially on the league nights.
I think my favorite job was working the service bar when one of the regular bartenders called out or was off. They let me fill in because I was so “mature” and “responsible”. And even though I was only 17 and couldn’t order a drink myself, they let me work the service bar because it was for the waitresses only (I couldn’t sell a drink to a walkup customer), so she did all the proofing of people and I just filled drink orders for her.
I knew some drink combinations because most people ordered pretty simple stuff. And the ones I didn’t know, I could look up in a recipe book they provided me, or ask the waitresses who were pretty savvy.
Anyway, sometime early on in my bartending career, someone ordered a sloe gin fizz. It was a pretty simple drink that combined sloe gin with the whiskey sour mix shaken with a splash of soda. Of course whenever I made some new drink, I always made a little extra to sample for myself as long as no one was around. And when I tasted that sloe gin fizz for the first time it was like a fruit drink to me and went down soooooo easy.
I don’t think it was the first night I made it, but maybe a few weeks later because the same person in the ladies league would order that drink, I was sampling a little too much. It made me careless to the point that even after the leagues were over and I was cleaning up to go home, I was still tasting like crazy.
All I know is that I had to have a friend drive me home that night, and I asked her to leave me off a block from my house because I needed to get air and walk a little before trying to confront anyone who might be awake in my house. As soon as I got out of the car, however, the night and the motion of the car ride home combined to force it all up in one of the most horrendous vomits I ever remember. I remember the large maple tree that I leaned against with one hand while I puked over and over and over again until my stomach muscles just ached from the strain, and the tears were flowing from my eyes. Anybody not know this experience?
Couldn’t move for more than a half hour from that tree. I talked to it as if it were my best friend that I had just betrayed, and apologiozed to it profusely, just waiting for my guts to settle back down. I could never walk past that section of my neighborhood again without apologizing to that tree for that night, and for being such a steady friend.
Needless to say, and the point of this story, is that sloe gin has never passed over these lips since that night, and that was about 43 years ago.