My Sister Could Have Killed Me!

Another dangerous stunt my middle sister pulled on me...Issue #85

ifOnlyi…had quit drinking, this event would never be mentioned, and perhaps my relationship with my middle sister would have been very different indeed. After this experience, I felt she really was trying to kill me.

It was a warm, sunny day, and I was outside doing chores for the parents when I decided it was a good time for a cold beer. I went into the house and grabbed one out of the bar fridge, along with my beer bong.

I went outside, and our handyman who worked for the family was there with my sister and said they wanted to watch. It was because I was using a beer bong to drink my one beer.

Beer Bong!

I opened the beer and put my thumb over the bottom of the hose. My sister said, “I will pour the beer into the bong for you.” I handed the beer to our handyman Mark, and I wasn’t paying much attention as he was standing with his back towards me. They lifted the can, and I could see the tilting of the beer. The next thing I knew, the words were, “You’re ready.”

I put the hose to my lips, holding the hose in one hand, and my sister handed me the funnel to hold in the other hand.

The idea is that once you have the tube in your mouth, all you do is lift up the funnel way above your head, and all the beer rushes right into your stomach. Just then, I lifted it up. It was going to be a very cold beer going down me.

It shot down faster than an F-35 Fighter jet taking off on the USS Gerald Ford Aircraft Carrier, and it was done in a snap of the fingers.

But then I gagged and gagged hard. “That was not a Beer,” I yelled out. “What the heck did you put inside?”

My Sister was laughing nonstop and showed me an empty Bottle of vodka. She poured every drop into the funnel rather than the beer.

375 mls of Vodka now empty

That means 12.7 Shots of Vodka went straight into me within a second, much more than a full night’s worth of drinking. It was going to my head fast; I thought I could throw it up. But that wasn’t going to be easy as I can’t make myself throw up fingers or no fingers down my throat; it doesn’t make a difference.

I was bound to feel sick for the next 15 hours. Smart thinking, Ollie thought of eating lots of food to soak up the sick feeling, but couldn’t bear the sight.

Growing up, the two of us used to play sports together, like tennis and throwing baseballs hard at each other. She began to dislike me. I thought we had a great bond, but she really did not like me. She was always one-upping me at anything and everything she possibly could.

She and her friends were always whispering secrets and giggling when around me, almost as if to rile me up.

She loved tattling on me at any chance she would get. I recall just one out of 100’s of Tattles. One night, I went out to a nightclub called Annabelle’s, my local dance club, and invited several friends over after the club closed.

When we all arrived at my parents’ home, who, luckily for me, were gone for the weekend, I went into the bar and found that my Mom had locked the doors. I really didn’t understand why. You couldn’t buy alcohol anywhere; after 2 a.m., it was impossible.

This was, in fact, the first time I had ever brought people over from any club or any night out; I had to find a way to get drinks for people. I knew Mom had her wine locked up in the garage, which had double doors with a lock. So I ( or was it someone else’s suggestion?) quickly realized I could take off the hinges, and it should open, Voila!

Mom’s wine collection was now available.

The following morning, I put back the doors, and truth be told, it was a really decent, well-done job. The lock seemed 95% good to go, but my sister had other plans.

As soon as my Mom came back from her weekend trip, my sister burst into confessions. “Ollie did it, Mom. Ollie did it; he took your doors off the hinges and drank some of your good wines with his friends.”

Mom instantly went to the garage and checked things out. The doors opened smoothly enough, and she looked around, not noticing any missing bottles, but my sister had saved the empty bottles for proof and showed them to her.

Feck it! I got caught.

The repercussions were not going to be good for me. Mom was clearly pleased with her daughter for barfing up what I had done. Maybe this is why she was her favorite child out of the three of us. I know she was, and my little sister, nine years younger, knew it too.

Reflecting on the past, I realize that we both displayed excessive rebellion against my mom’s strict rules over the years.

Many years later, my middle sister orchestrated her greatest deception against the two of us, which led to my not speaking to her for the last 18 years.