tonghands
10-01-2004, 01:47 PM
The bet was this: Grind 10 Altoids into a powder and snort it for $20.
The guy at work who came up with the idea knew from the start that I was the only one stupid enough and insecure in my manhood enough to even consider doing it. Given that I only come into the office once a month or so he knew that it was now or never and so really went to work on me. His carefully considered decision to use the whole 'wuss' genre of taunts was a conception of Machiavellian genius. "You're too much of a wuss to do it". "What's the matter wussy boy?". "Here wussy, wussy, wussy". He must have thought that I'm a total moron. You will undoubtedly not be surprised to find out that he was correct.
So the bet guy announces over the office intercom the afternoon's entertainment. He's really into it. I get the feeling that if he had more time this could have been a real extravaganza, complete with coat check and valet parking. He decides that the best place for this to happen is the conference room, so that everyone gets a good look at the moron and his mints. After a long delay of getting everyone into the conference room and setting up we get ready to start.
I grind the Altoids into a powder with the back of a spoon. When the smell from the squishified Altoids hits me I start to get a bit nervous. Altoids must have been created my some overly enthusiastic mint psychopath any ways. Why the fuck are they that strong? Seriously, the guy who came up with these must have been some sort of mint extremist who, perhaps disturbed by the unholy flavor mixers who desecrate the purity of mint with such degenerate flavors such as chocolate, felt the need to bring a certain purity to the entire mint experience. This lunatic mintmonger is one thing, but why do people buy these things?
OK, the Altoids are now all ready to go. I hum 'Eye of the Tiger' for a bit to get me all revved up for the next few minutes, which are basically guaranteed to be memorable. The guys are by now convinced that this is actually going to happen, and so are a bit excitable. Nervous laughter is surrounding the table and the guys are pressing in close. A quick glance around the table confirms the ethnic variety of my work place. Indians (of the Indian subcontinent variety, not the running from cowboys who want to kill them variety), Chinese, Koreans,Russians, and other diverse representatives of their respective ethnic groups are all shouting, laughing, and in general really looking forward to seeing some idiot feeling some pain.
For a moment I get the feeling that I have been dropped into the movie 'Kickboxer' and that this is all just a prelude to my getting the crap kicked out of me by some overly muscular yet incredibly stupid behemoth, until said behemoth makes some comment about my mother or dead wife or kidnapped baby and I summon the intestinal fortitude to ignore that pain and give him a righteous beating. Upon reflection however, I realize that we're talking about snorting some mints and that furthermore, I am a gigantic dork.
So, what the hell, I grab the straw and let 'er rip.
Pain.
Apparently Altoids have some quasi-mystical properties of dislocation. I distinctly remember getting the sense that my consciousness had separated from my body and was hovering about 8 feet above the floor. I could clearly see myself sitting in the chair, straw still inserted in my nose. Very calmly and quietly I heard myself say "no".
Fuck, I'm back in my body, or what's left of it. Actually, much like Barbara Streisand, although I actually have a complete body the only thing that seems to matter is my nose. This nose is clearly unhappy with the situation and is doing a bang up job of letting me know. The pain is exquisite. It felt as if some wayward sailor had felt the need to test out a flare gun and had chosen my nasal passages as a suitable target.
After about 10 minutes of rocking back and forth in my chair, nose and eyes streaming snot, and several hundred glasses of water and milk, I finally get my shit together enough to rub the crap from my eyes and sort of see again. The crowd is still there although they're hushed. While clearly the festival of pain I've gone through has touched these guys in some primal way, these fuckers seem to be expecting something more. What the fuck are these cockbags waiting for? My death? I'm all for making fun of someone else's pain but waiting for me to die seems a bit over the top.
Oh shit. I had forgotten.
In a terribly misguided attempt to look cool, as if I hung out with the Eagles back in the seventies and knew my way around snorting various powders, I had cut the Altoids into not one line but two. Oh man. I imagine the pioneers on the Oregon Trail must have felt the same way when they got their first sight of the Rockies after already travelling for weeks. "Fuck, we deal with Indians who want to kill us, we haven't had any water for weeks, riding through Iowa and Nebraska was fucking boring because we can't play the license plate game for the good reason that cars haven't been invented yet, and now just when we thought we were almost done, some asshole with a sense of humor decided to drop fucking mountains in our way." I mumble some stuff to the effect of there is no chance that I'll do the second line, only in a more colorful and longwinded way. After about 5 minutes of sitting there and whining I hear two of the Chinese guys exchange something in Mandarin that I do not need a translator to figure out means "fucking wussbag". What the hell, I'll never be able to smell again any ways.
PAIN.
Apparently the first snort merely served to clean out the snot so that the second blast could get to the real work out scouring to the bone. Jesus, this really hurts. What feels like pulpy flesh is running down my throat. I'm surprised to hear my own voice when I ask for some "fucking water". I sound a bit like Henry Kissinger, only two octaves higher and after bingeing on Drano and bourbon cocktails.
It took about three hours for the pain to dull enough so that it wasn't the only thing I thought about. I still feel the after effects today, about 24 hours after the fact. All in all I wouldn't do it again, but it was entertaining. And I can honestly say that for once work was not boring.
The guy at work who came up with the idea knew from the start that I was the only one stupid enough and insecure in my manhood enough to even consider doing it. Given that I only come into the office once a month or so he knew that it was now or never and so really went to work on me. His carefully considered decision to use the whole 'wuss' genre of taunts was a conception of Machiavellian genius. "You're too much of a wuss to do it". "What's the matter wussy boy?". "Here wussy, wussy, wussy". He must have thought that I'm a total moron. You will undoubtedly not be surprised to find out that he was correct.
So the bet guy announces over the office intercom the afternoon's entertainment. He's really into it. I get the feeling that if he had more time this could have been a real extravaganza, complete with coat check and valet parking. He decides that the best place for this to happen is the conference room, so that everyone gets a good look at the moron and his mints. After a long delay of getting everyone into the conference room and setting up we get ready to start.
I grind the Altoids into a powder with the back of a spoon. When the smell from the squishified Altoids hits me I start to get a bit nervous. Altoids must have been created my some overly enthusiastic mint psychopath any ways. Why the fuck are they that strong? Seriously, the guy who came up with these must have been some sort of mint extremist who, perhaps disturbed by the unholy flavor mixers who desecrate the purity of mint with such degenerate flavors such as chocolate, felt the need to bring a certain purity to the entire mint experience. This lunatic mintmonger is one thing, but why do people buy these things?
OK, the Altoids are now all ready to go. I hum 'Eye of the Tiger' for a bit to get me all revved up for the next few minutes, which are basically guaranteed to be memorable. The guys are by now convinced that this is actually going to happen, and so are a bit excitable. Nervous laughter is surrounding the table and the guys are pressing in close. A quick glance around the table confirms the ethnic variety of my work place. Indians (of the Indian subcontinent variety, not the running from cowboys who want to kill them variety), Chinese, Koreans,Russians, and other diverse representatives of their respective ethnic groups are all shouting, laughing, and in general really looking forward to seeing some idiot feeling some pain.
For a moment I get the feeling that I have been dropped into the movie 'Kickboxer' and that this is all just a prelude to my getting the crap kicked out of me by some overly muscular yet incredibly stupid behemoth, until said behemoth makes some comment about my mother or dead wife or kidnapped baby and I summon the intestinal fortitude to ignore that pain and give him a righteous beating. Upon reflection however, I realize that we're talking about snorting some mints and that furthermore, I am a gigantic dork.
So, what the hell, I grab the straw and let 'er rip.
Pain.
Apparently Altoids have some quasi-mystical properties of dislocation. I distinctly remember getting the sense that my consciousness had separated from my body and was hovering about 8 feet above the floor. I could clearly see myself sitting in the chair, straw still inserted in my nose. Very calmly and quietly I heard myself say "no".
Fuck, I'm back in my body, or what's left of it. Actually, much like Barbara Streisand, although I actually have a complete body the only thing that seems to matter is my nose. This nose is clearly unhappy with the situation and is doing a bang up job of letting me know. The pain is exquisite. It felt as if some wayward sailor had felt the need to test out a flare gun and had chosen my nasal passages as a suitable target.
After about 10 minutes of rocking back and forth in my chair, nose and eyes streaming snot, and several hundred glasses of water and milk, I finally get my shit together enough to rub the crap from my eyes and sort of see again. The crowd is still there although they're hushed. While clearly the festival of pain I've gone through has touched these guys in some primal way, these fuckers seem to be expecting something more. What the fuck are these cockbags waiting for? My death? I'm all for making fun of someone else's pain but waiting for me to die seems a bit over the top.
Oh shit. I had forgotten.
In a terribly misguided attempt to look cool, as if I hung out with the Eagles back in the seventies and knew my way around snorting various powders, I had cut the Altoids into not one line but two. Oh man. I imagine the pioneers on the Oregon Trail must have felt the same way when they got their first sight of the Rockies after already travelling for weeks. "Fuck, we deal with Indians who want to kill us, we haven't had any water for weeks, riding through Iowa and Nebraska was fucking boring because we can't play the license plate game for the good reason that cars haven't been invented yet, and now just when we thought we were almost done, some asshole with a sense of humor decided to drop fucking mountains in our way." I mumble some stuff to the effect of there is no chance that I'll do the second line, only in a more colorful and longwinded way. After about 5 minutes of sitting there and whining I hear two of the Chinese guys exchange something in Mandarin that I do not need a translator to figure out means "fucking wussbag". What the hell, I'll never be able to smell again any ways.
PAIN.
Apparently the first snort merely served to clean out the snot so that the second blast could get to the real work out scouring to the bone. Jesus, this really hurts. What feels like pulpy flesh is running down my throat. I'm surprised to hear my own voice when I ask for some "fucking water". I sound a bit like Henry Kissinger, only two octaves higher and after bingeing on Drano and bourbon cocktails.
It took about three hours for the pain to dull enough so that it wasn't the only thing I thought about. I still feel the after effects today, about 24 hours after the fact. All in all I wouldn't do it again, but it was entertaining. And I can honestly say that for once work was not boring.