Drunken Dispatches

Tanginamo, Tanduay!

Within three months of officially dating each other, two of your intrepid dispatchers managed to sample most of Tanduay’s newfangled products. Unintentionally, of course. We aren’t alcoholics. What follows are concise reviews of said products, in case you find yourself hankering for a cheap-ass drink at 2 on a Thursday morning.

TANDUAY ICE

Flavors: evil Sprite.

First sampled in: “college, with my then-boyfriend, while in an almost break-up.” - She

Served: in its bottle, chilled.

He said: I have always opted for beer when available. Girls like it, I guess.

She said: I liked it! Your classic traidor. Goes down like Sprite, hits you like gin, comes up like, well, vomit. 

Recommendation: For long and drawn-out couple drink-ups in which neither of you feel like tasting any more bitterness than is already in the air between you guys.

He added: AWW.

Within three months of officially dating each other, two of your intrepid dispatchers managed to sample most of Tanduay’s newfangled products. Unintentionally, of course. We aren’t alcoholics. What follows are concise reviews of said products, in case you find yourself hankering for a cheap-ass drink at 2 on a Thursday morning.

BORACAY RUM

Flavors: coconut, cappuchino, and the brand new (possibly disgusting) melon.

First sampled in: “I don’t know. I don’t think we were even together.” - He

Served: neat, chilled, copiously.

He said: The best rum since Tanduay rum came out in 1854. Which is not saying a lot. But as Filipinos, our expectations are generally low.

She said: I like mixing the coconut one with Coca-cola. (Boyf says it’s called a Coppertone. It tastes better than its namesake, though.) Good for “chillax inuman” in “Bora” with your “bros.” And for drinking alone in your apartment while feeling too weak to swig whiskey from the bottle because you’ve an article due in three hours. 

Recommendation: Go for it.

theniftyfifties:

Marilyn takes a swig in ‘Some Like it Hot’, 1959 

(Source: screwedandtattoed)

Someone on Twitter, on whether Cantina on Katipunan was open for business on Black Saturday.

*Cantina used to be called Tia Maria’s, and Tia Maria** still owns the place

**If she exists.  

seafroth:

let’s make holy week sinful.

(Source: jeeslees, via insomniambulism)

It is important, when dealing with cops, to do so in a calm and confident manner.

Answering a neighborhood watchman’s gruff “What’s in that bottle?” with a smirk and a grin that can only be described as “shit-eating” does not fall under this. Not even a little, not even at all.

Calmly and confidently (which is to say not pissing yourself in fear of a beating) brandishing a year-expired driver’s license, it turns out, is like waving a rag in front of a bull. Or, as it were, waving not-money in front of a street cop.

“Wag ka nang mayabang, baka mamaya hindi ka na mayabang,” one watchman—the one who seemed to be in charge—warned. It was, as threats go, pretty mild. Don’t be arrogant because you might not be arrogant later, translated roughly. Along with the implied threat of how we would be handled if we did not behave (ie roughly).  

And so, two of your dispatchers were arrested in a Makati district. The infraction? Drinking in public. Is anybody even surprised?

As Dispatcher One (Quicker Thinker) tweeted as the cops rolled up: “Arrested for public drunkenedd. Prseinto singko.” Dispatcher Two (Sure Goner) tweeted as well, opting for the cryptic and the vernacular: “Arrested! Shet!”

If anything, people should be surprised that it went as well as it did. There was no random violence. No special troops were needed to take them down with tranquilizer darts or a prayer to any and all gods of war. They had not descended to the level of ravening beasts, though SG was already showing signs of early-onset hibernation, e.g. staggering.

One defense, quickly shot down by the hard-nosed watchmen of Barangay San Antonio in Makati City, was that nobody witnessed any actual drinking. For all we knew, the bottles of brandy and Coke by our feet had always been there, fauna endemic to the Malugay area.

While this reasoning makes perfect sense to a drunk, it did not fly with the watchmen who had not, correctly, been drinking in public at the time and were therefore in full control of logic and basic motor skills. And by motor skills, we mean they hustled us into their motorcycle sidecar and pbb-bb-bb-bb’ed us away to the ominously named Presinto Singko.

Ever friendly, SG proceeded to cheerfully introduce herself to the watchmen, adding with disgusting pride that QT was her boyfriend. Despite the statement not having any legal standing other than the original profession of love — made just last week while jointly inebriated, of course — it made QT blush. An act made easier by the brandy he had been been drinking. Allegedly drinking.

At this point, QT had already lost whatever buzz he had, facilitated no doubt by seeing the bank of CCTV monitors that Makati cops watch in a dark room right next to the public restroom in their station.

And also this shocking news/rumor/assertion: the feeds go straight to Makati City Mayor Jejomar Binay Jr. and to the Vice President himself.

Faced with this, and a desk sergeant who was in no mood for our burgis bullshit, there was nothing for it but to cop a plea.

Our dispatchers could fight the charge, he said, which would mean night court, a medical exam, and a hefty fee (or three days in jail). Or, admit that we were drinking on the mean streets of Makati, get reprimanded, and set loose.

And that is what happened, with one major concession: QT would take the rap alone. SG, clearly drunk, was in no condition to have been drinking on the street after all. Her being slumped over on the sergeant’s desk res ipsa loquitur although she could not.

Duly reprimanded and set free with the condition to not do it again, there was only one way the night could end: brought by patrol tricycle back to The Collective, where our dispatchers should have been doing their drinking in the first place.

thecongenialhour:

There’s no limit to the amount of joyous occasions that bring people together. We gather together for all type of celebrations — birthdays, meetups of long-lost friends, bridal/wedding showers, starting/leaving a job, and many more. And while the guest of honor is always showered with congeniality, there’s another congenial issue that deserves discussion.

We often choose to break bread for these gatherings, holding them at any number of restaurants. The cuisine is diverse, as well as the drinking tastes of the guests. Should this issue be broached by taking the communal route — bottles of wine for the table? Or should everyone take their own path to imbibing? There are certain protocols of kinmanship that exist for sharing drinks, but when you’re one of 15, what can you do? Go along for the ride or go down with the ship? Should you bear the brunt of the sweet red that was chosen, or take part in the dessert white that was chosen in seemingly bad taste? Even worse, if you’re an advocate for temperance, a teetotaler to the core, do you agree with your best brohams adding drinks you didn’t have onto your tab? You came to break bread, not break bottles — what if your final bill jumps from $30 to $60? Is it all in honor to the favorite chum of all? That’s quite a steep jump.

We should all aim for an individual route, relying on our personal styles and what we appreciate most about imbibing. But you can’t prevent 14 other people from enjoying the event, in addition to pissing off the person of honor. Oh, what a quandary — is the glass really half full or half empty?

mostexerent:

& let the games begin! (Taken with Instagram at Bodega)