HUMOR IN UNIFORM
THE “TEETOTALLER ALCOHOLIC”
THE “TEETOTALLER ALCOHOLIC”
Delightful Memories of my Halcyon Navy Days
A Spoof
By
VIKRAM KARVE
The “TEETOTALLER ALCOHOLIC” – a Rum Tale by Vikram Karve
Long back – almost 39 years ago – sometime in the late 1970’s – we were young officers just introduced to the pleasures of alcohol during our specialisation course.
We youngsters thoroughly enjoyed our newly found freedom by “topping up to the hilt” in the wardroom bar every evening.
Though it was supposed to be a Technical Training Establishment – the atmosphere was more “OG” than Gunnery School.
And – to make matters worse – we were located in a desolate place in the back of beyond.
Apart from playing sports – the only recreation for us bachelors was drinking alcohol.
Also – in order to sleep soundly in the “bedbug infested cabins” – you had to imbibe a reasonable amount of alcohol every evening.
So – every evening – after a vigorous round of games – we would assemble in the wardroom bar – and “top-up” – till the last sitting for dinner was announced.
In order to curb our excesses – the PMC set a daily limit of 3 Large Pegs of Rum for each individual officer.
Well – during those days – we drank only large pegs – and 3 large pegs total about 180 ml of hard liquor – less than a quarter of a bottle of rum – which has almost 13 large pegs.
Now – for tough young naval officers like us in their early 20’s – only 3 large pegs of rum were just too little – especially for an ardent drinker like me.
So – I devised a simple strategy.
I caught hold of my course-mate “X” – who was a strict teetotaller.
Of course – like most “teetotallers in uniform” – my friend “X” was quite a money-minded “businessman in uniform” too.
You will be surprised – but – “X” was the only strict teetotaller in our course.
Nowadays – you find a large number of “Teetotallers in Uniform”.
Anyway – let me get back to the story of “X”.
I saw “X” sitting in the bar with a soft drink – so – I walked over to him and made him a proposition: “If you let me have your Rum Quota – I will pay your entire Wine Bill – including whatever soft drinks and snacks you have.”
“You will pay my entire Bar Bill...?” “X” asked me, unbelieving.
“Yes,” I said to “X”, “See – your daily 3 peg “rum quota” is going waste – since you are a teetotaller. If you give me your daily rum quota – I will pay your entire bar bill every month.”
“X” readily agreed.
In fact – I am sure that in his heart he jumped with joy.
So – we instructed the bar steward accordingly.
Every evening – the steward would put my first 3 large pegs of rum in X’s bar-book.
Whatever subsequent pegs I drank beyond the first 3 pegs – would be entered in my bar-book.
Yes – those days – in Navy wardrooms – we had bar-books which we had to sign at the end of the evening – or by next morning.
So – every evening – as I sat down to drink – my first 3 large pegs of rum would be written in X’s bar-book.
In case I drank a fourth or fifth or sixth peg of rum – the steward would write them in my own bar-book.
I seldom drank more than 6 large pegs – except on rare occasions like parties – but on such occasions of unrestricted drinking – booze was “on the house” – and we were not subject to any drinking “quota”.
So – thanks to X – every evening – I would enjoy a generous amount of booze – which raised my spirits – so my morale was high – and I was quite happy.
“X” was delighted with this arrangement.
“X” sat down with us in the evenings – downing soft drink after soft drink – eating plenty of “small eats” – knowing that I was paying for all his soft drinks and eats too – and calculating the cost in his mind – estimating how much money he was saving – since I was paying his entire bar bill.
I am sure that in his mind he was wondering what a sucker I was.
A couple of months passed happily.
One morning – the PMC suddenly entered the training hall – and he thundered, “Who the bloody hell is Sub Lieutenant “X”...?”
The PMC shouted X’s name – and he looked around the hall.
“X” meekly stood up.
The PMC strode up to “X”
Then – the PMC brandished X’s bar-book menacingly – and the PMC shouted at “X”: “What the hell is wrong with you...? Do you want to become a bloody alcoholic...? You have been religiously drinking 3 large pegs of rum every day for the last two months. I am stopping your booze. No more drinking. You better sober up.”
And then – as suddenly as he had come – the PMC stormed out of the hall – rendering a hapless “X” dumbstruck and speechless.
Poor “X” – his reputation as a “drinker” spread pretty fast.
At parties – when “X” had his usual glass of cola in his hand – the PMC would suspect that X’s soft drink was was spiked with rum.
So “X” started drinking lime juice – but even then – the PMC was sure it was spiked with Gin or Vodka.
The PMC kept telling the Training Officer that he suspected that “X” was still drinking heavily.
Accordingly – the Training Officer kept warning “X” to stop drinking.
Meanwhile – I had found other sources to replenish my “thirst” for alcohol – like picking up a few rum bottles from married officers.
The biggest joke was that the PMC thought that “X” was taking rum bottles from married officers – and “X” was warned once more by the Training Officer to abstain from drinking.
Soon X’s reputation as an “alcoholic” was growing.
“X” feared that his appraisal report (OLQ Marks) would be ruined with a remark about his “alcohol dependence” – and he would be branded as an “alcoholic” throughout his naval career.
So – one day – “X” told the Training Officer the whole story.
The Training Officer told the PMC all about it.
And soon – I found myself being marched up to the PMC.
The PMC had two bar-books in his hand – X’s Bar-Book and My Bar-Book.
He was turning page after page.
“Is it true...?” the PMC asked me, “You seem to drinking 4 to 5 large pegs of Rum every evening. Sometimes even 6 pegs of Rum.”
“Yes, Sir,” I meekly said – trembling inside – expecting to be “logged” – or be severely admonished by the PMC – who was also the XO.
I surely anticipated that my booze was going to be stopped – so I was thinking in my mind what new arrangements I needed to make to obtain my supply of rum – maybe my friends in the Army or Air Force may help me out.
The PMC held up the bar-book of “X” and he asked me: “And what about this officer – your friend “X” – is he telling the truth that he is a teetotaller – or is he also a bloody alcoholic like you...?”
“Sir – he is an alcoholic teetotaller...” I blurted out.
“What...? “Alcoholic Teetotaller”...? Bloody Hell...!!! This is the first time I am hearing this crazy oxymoron...” the PMC looked at me curiously.
“Sir – I meant that “X” is a teetotaller alcoholic...” I mumbled sheepishly.
“Teetotaller Alcoholic...” the PMC repeated, looking confused.
And – suddenly – the PMC burst out laughing – and he said to me: “Come over to my house for a drink this evening. You seem to be an interesting chap.”
Maybe – I reminded him of his youthful days.
Yes – I did indeed remind him of his wild younger days – that is what he told me after a few drinks – and – I could see that the PMC really enjoyed his liquor.
In the evening – as we imbibed peg after peg of the best rum – the PMC – an old “sea-dog” – was overcome by the Auld Lang Syne Complex – so he harked back to his halcyon navy days – and he excitedly told me about his glorious drinking escapades.
Cheers – That calls for a drink...!
I hope my good friend the “Teetotaller Alcoholic” reads this memoir – and has a good laugh.
VIKRAM KARVE
Copyright © Vikram Karve
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© vikram karve., all rights reserved.
1. If you share this post, please give due credit to the author Vikram Karve
2. Please DO NOT PLAGIARIZE. Please DO NOT Cut/Copy/Paste this post
© vikram karve., all rights reserved.
Disclaimer:
1. This yarn is a spoof, satire, pure fiction, just for fun and humor, no offence is meant to anyone, so take it with a pinch of salt and have a laugh.
2. All Stories in this Blog are a work of fiction. Events, Places, Settings and Incidents narrated in the stories are a figment of my imagination. The characters do not exist and are purely imaginary. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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