Don’t Go Chasin’ Waterfalls
The single most important thing you learn in your mid-twenties is that cheap pitchers are the Devil’s work. Unfortunately, you’ll find yourself in Barcelona in your early twenties.
More specifically, you’ll find yourself on the hostel rooftop, purchasing a pitcher of Sangria for three euros. ‘What a deal!’ you’ll say to your friends. ‘Let’s each buy a pitcher!’
Oh you sweet, naive cherubs.
Pitchers in hand, you’ll join a group of fellow travelers from around the globe in an impromptu game of Waterfalls. TLC was all ‘Don’t go chasin’ and you’re all ‘I wanna chase, T-Boz!’
Unfortunately one of your new teammates is a Finnish woman with no sense of self-control. Furthermore, she’s chugging straight from a handle of Bailey’s Irish Cream, intent on destroying her body with mass quantities of lactose. So you’ll think, hey, what’s a little Sangria?! It’s got fruit!
Halfway down Satan’s wormhole, a very attractive Welsh gentleman will begin speaking to you. The conversation’s off to a good start, but then you’ll realize you’re going to vomit in approximately 28 seconds.
“Hey…umm, I’ll be right back,” you’ll say, before doing a surprisingly calm yet incredibly frantic run-walk to the hostel bathroom. Hanging out on all fours, you’ll finally get why the game is called Waterfalls. Four waterfalls, to be specific.
Your friends will find you in the bathroom half an hour later, your jean skirt now intimately involved with the tile floor. But what’s that? They’re not ready to the end the night!
So instead of making sure you’re OK, they’ll walk you back to your co-ed hostel room and leave you in there with two Danish men occupying the other set of bunks. But wait–good friend alert–they’ll also set your phone alarm for 2 a.m., at which point they’ll ask that you send confirmation, via text, that you haven’t choked to death on your own vomit. You guuyyyyssss! You.are.the.best.
But hey, lesson learned. You gotta stick to the rivers and the lakes that you’re used to. Like, three hard ciders, max.