Saturday, February 12, 2011
(title: copyright Messingschlager, 2010).
So I figured someone would have posted about this by now- as usual laziness has gotten the best of us. Last weekend, Power, Mark and I went to Grenoble, France to meet up with Will, Jimmy and Cory. We got in on Friday (Jimmy and Cory had gotten there the night before) and waited for the other guys to get back from the slopes. We finally get to Will's apartment, which is a ten-by-ten-foot, smaller-than-Markley-dorms, plain-white walk-in-closet-sized room with a lofted bed, stove, sink and shower without a curtain. Just imagine five bros passed the fuck out on a tile floor lined up like sardines. On Friday night, we went to Will's friends' apartment to pregame, where we crushed a few bottles before heading out to a few pubs.
The next morning, we got up at like 7 and dragged ourselves to the bus station with our ski gear. An hour later, we were heading up the chair lift. Highlights of that day: Mark Jay pizza-slicing his way down every run, Power and I rocking jeans, Power wearing socks for gloves, and our constant competitive bickering in the unique style of GNAR (Gaffney's Numerical Assessment of Radness- if you are into skiing/snowboarding, look this up. theres a hilarious documentary). Basically just the immortal six of us yelling variations of "I'm so much better than you!", "Check me out- I'm about to rip this shit!", and "I'm the best skier on this mountain!" to each other and random strangers as we flew by them. Must have been the first time six Michigan Fijis have ever met up in the French Alps.
That night, we pregamed in Will's closet-room before we went to the tram stop. While we were waiting for the tram, a Thai man came up to us with a bottle and cognac and we gladly let him join the crew. We passed the bottle around while we taught our new friend Tun some brocabulary, including "slampiece," "smash," and the infinitive "to roll deep as fuck." We went to a couple of places, but we hadn't left Will's apartment until after midnight, and bars in Grenoble don't stay open very late. This (combined with our high BAC levels) made for a very interesting night. At one of the bars we went to, the bouncers wouldn't let us in. They kept saying that we needed to find some girls if we wanted to get in, so we tried to join a few groups that included some bitches. There were seven of us, so this strategy didn't work out too well. Then a group of mostly French dudes walked right in without any trouble from the bouncers. Blacked out and frustrated, Mark asked Will how to say a very specific word in French. Mark then walked over to the bar entrance and began yelling "la racisme! la racisme!" (basically calling the bouncers racists). One of the bouncers pushed Mark, who briefly ran away before returning to continue his yelling. This set the bouncers off, and about six of these huge French assholes came out of the bar entryway to beat the shit out of us. One of them was putting on a pair of thick leather gloves, and another was brandishing a nightstick, so we got the fuck out of there. We hit up another bar or two before we decided to head back to the apartment.
On our way back, we got kinda lost, and ended up crossing a bridge with these long concrete arcs coming up about 50 feet on either side of the road. In his drunken stupor, Cory thought it would be a good idea to run up one of these concrete arcs, which rose at an angle that must have seemed very inviting at the time. For a few minutes, Cory was standing on top of the arc, 50 feet above us and another 30 or so above the water. After a bit, Cory came down on the other side of the arc just fine, accomplishing another extreme drunken feat and giving us yet another reason to call our friend the stupekid. We eventually found our way back to the apartment, where we promptly passed out on the tile floor. Cory and Jimmy left the next morning, and we dipped out after Mark finished streaming the Super Bowl the following night. What a weekend- officer reports and pictures to come soon...