Drunken Focus

Drunk people have amazing focus. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. At a dinner party the sloppy drunk will usually pick a victim and have amazing drunken focus on them.

Years ago, at a business party no less, I experienced this phenomena first hand. I have to say it’s partly my fault. Extreme drunks at a party are like a train wreck, you can’t look away. Watching them over the course of an evening is kind of like a roller coaster ride – will they physically do something totally inappropriate, will they confess their undying love to anyone within ear shot, will they barf?

Drink in hand; he scanned the room with his glassy eyes, head bobbling. Gravity was seriously a challenge. Wondering whether his career will be in the dumper after this party, I continued to watch him attempt to weave through the crowd. Yeah, that’s the bosses’ wife – oh, narrow miss for her. Wonder who he’s looking for? What’s he drinking? Vodka? That’s not going to be pretty tomorrow.

And then…it happened…accidental eye contact. Damn it! Oh, now the target is clear.

Quickly I focus my gaze on those close to me…attempting to join into the conversation already in progress. It’s hopeless. Drunken focus has taken over. Drunken focus doesn’t care if you are engaged in a conversation…it’s unimportant to the drunken focus mission.

And then it happens, he’s on me like white on rice. Drink sloshing and cubes tinkling, the unavoidable encounter…

“Hey, Barb” he slurred.

“Hey, Mark…” I replied.

“So, like, your last name is Friedman, right?” he said.

“Yup,” I said.

[is his zipper half down?]

“So, that’s a Jewish last name…right?”

[oh, hang on, here we go]

“Well, I guess somewhere along the line it was, but I’m not Jewish.” I said.

“Yeah, I thought it was a Jewish name.” he states as he glances around

(Insert pregnant pause accompanied by more drinking here)

I watch the swaying with interest while he collects his thoughts.

“So, then, do you guys celebrate Christmas or Hannukkah?” he inquires loudly

“Well, we aren’t Jewish, Mark, so… we celebrate Christmas.

“But Friedman is a Jewish last name.” he states

“It can be, but it can also be a German last name. I’m not Jewish, Mark.”

He swigs…and contemplates…

“So, tell me, do you guys celebrate Christmas or Hannukkah?”

[oh my God get me out of here]

I glance over at Bob who is chuckling…and no help. I shoot him the whole “big eye” help-me-out-here-look. Nope. Too much fun. Carry on.

“So, you’re not Jewish?” he inquires

“Right, I’m not Jewish.” I confirm

“Your name is Friedman, but you’re not Jewish.” he repeats

[by Jove, I think he’s got it!]

“Right, Mark. My last name is Friedman, but I’m not Jewish.” I firmly state.

He looks around and takes another swig.

“So, do you celebrate Christmas or Hannukkah?” he asks

“Both. Both, Mark. We celebrate both.” I said.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” he says...as he stumbles away toward his next victim.