Climber's Gin

The taxi finally arrived at a poorly lit building inside an even darker cavern that was underneath the immense one housing Drinkadoo. A river could be heard nearby and even stepping out of the car Gerry could smell the sweet waters that Ole Grandpa had mentioned. Inside were all the awful things he had said, all the awful components that went into making the best liquor in the world. The pain of Arabic sweat distilled into each barrel of crude oil, the guilt and sausage taste that German shower parts spent decades washing away, until they finally stood above the factory floor on a large catwalk overlooking the trough through which the already aromatic gin was poured. “You can see it winding its way now, up to the last stage. It is here that every couple of minutes a single drop of baby’s tears is added. It is in this way that I make the best alcohol in the world. Isn’t it…incredible?” Ole Grandpa murmured. Gerry nodded his head, but on the inside was all the more annoyed. He wasn’t bothered that his favorite liquor was created through incredibly disturbing methods. He wasn’t bothered by the origins of a thing he loved. He was bothered by something that he did not quite understand yet. “Gerry…you haven’t been able to get drunk. Have you? No, no. It’s alright. I know you’ve tried. Yes, I deduced that your shift in elevation was taking its toll and your body could process the alcohol more than others. You know…there is a way. It’s called Climber’s Gin. Just invented for people fresh from hiking and climbing.” The old man revealed a clear bottle, unlabeled, and showed it to Gerry. “There is no greater sadness to me than seeing a person who must be around others intoxicated while he himself is not. No greater stress than watching others experience joy in something that you yourself feel nothing from. You would judge me for being a bit insistent that people always be drunk in my Factory. And yet it is this very thing that has caused alcohol to be criminalized throughout history. If everyone would get drunk more often, then there would be no need to for me to hide away in this cave! There would be no need for people to die because of drunk driving, because no one would ever be expected to drive! There would be no need for people to make mistakes on alcohol, because they wouldn’t be mistakes anymore! Imagine a world where we were all accustomed to drunks, where it was accepted, and where everyone could hold their own! What I want to do in Drinkadoo, no, what I want to do in the entire world, is hear one single voice ring out in unison! I want to hear everyone declare, ‘Bartender, fix me another!’ Ole Grandpa held the bottle of Climber’s Gin high in the air as he gave his speech. With an almost wild eye, he looked at Gerry and offered it to him. “Gerry, are you with me? Don’t you see? That’s what the contest was always about. The winner stays with me! The winner joins me in Drinkadoo and together we will create new drinks! New Alcohol! Together, we will create a new world for getting drunk!”