Saturday, November 6, 2010

Glenn, patron saint of hangovers

In the early 90's, when we lived in Chicago, a friend of ours bar tended at a Scottish pub on Clark street close to Diversey. It became like a second home. I developed a deep love of bitters and stouts, and a fearful respect of single malt scotch. My wife would call the pub first if she didn't know where I was.
Eventually our bartender friend decided to move back to Missouri, so our small group of friends had a final hurrah at the pub on his last night on duty. It was a blur of excessive drinking. I drank way past the point where I was mindful of the consequences.
Then a miracle happened- I awoke the next morning fine! In fact, I helped our friend load up his truck and I was in a pretty good mood! How could this be? I should've been hospitalized! The only reasonable explanation, of course, is that some supernatural force intervened.
I wish I knew what prompts his appearance, as I've been saved precious few times since!

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