Furnished like a a ‘70s airport lounge, with faux leather chairs that swallowed you as you slouched back, and a stained, burnt-clay coloured carpet, the Students’ Union was familiar and non-descript as a small-town sports club bar. I approached the counter and did some quick sums: R1.20 for a box of cigarettes, R1.30 a beer: on that and my virgin post-high-school provincial alcohol tolerance, I could get giddy, numb-face drunk for ten bucks, with change over if I a braved a R2.50 bottle of Taverna Rouge.
Taverna Rouge, a red wine that could peel the linoleum off a kitchen floor. One sip tasted wrong as incest; a whole bottle was a one-way ticket to lurching, slurring oblivion and a hangover that left you bargaining with God or praying for a swift death.
Amid the hum of conversation and the chink of coinage games I sensed for the first time the boundless, intoxicating freedom that lay before us. Coming from so many far-flung dorps, towns and cities, here we were free to re-invent ourselves to be whoever, and whatever we wanted. Drunk, mostly.
4 comments:
Good piece - I'm left with that taste in my mouth I used to get on walking into the Union, be it day or night and before anything had been personally consumed! So many years of alcohol and cigarette smoke had soaked into the fabric of the place that just breathing the air left you with a furry tongue and a need to brush your teeth. And like an airport lounge in another way too - you always went there with the intention of going on somewhere else. The Rat, the Vic, a digs party... the Union was the place to stock up on cheap booze before heading off elsewhere. Bit like Dubai airport, really! Keep em coming Tim - really enjoying reading.
Oh my. This is going to be fun.
Dating a barman at the Union was particularly dangerous. It meant one's usual tipple (vodka, lime and water for me) was at souper-douper strength. Much wobbling ensued. Nicely done Mr Jones, enjoyed stumbling up memory lane with you.
The Kaif - Friday mornings were synonymous with the Kaif. Hung over as all hell with Accounts tuts due in by 12, we'd get an egg on toast with an extra egg for less than the price of a beer and sit down and swap tut notes.
And the memories of all those who fell off the back of those low Union cheers, beer in hand, who did a full backwards role and never spilt a drop!
Ah - those were the days! Yipreeee!
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