I'm On Wimmer
So it turns out that a litre of beer (serving size in Oktoberfest tents) is almost 34 fluid ounces. Yesterday, in about six hours, we drank 4.5 litres...I'll let you do the math.
Somehow (surely alcohol had nothing to do with it) we got turned around and went out the wrong side of the festival grounds. And instead of being a seven minute walk back to the apartment, it was about an hour and seven minutes.
It's funny today - although my head hurts when I laugh. Joe and I were arguing about where we were and my inability to find our location on Google Maps. We tried to call Uber, but I couldn't tell them where we were...having no idea myself. I finally realized that we'd gone out the wrong side, and we simply had to go back in, cross the park, and go out the other side. Joe insisted something else, but I'd taken off ahead of him towards the fest and only heard bits of yelling as I strode away.
Once out the other side, things started looking familiar. I turned to confirm with Joe, but he was about 30 yards behind me. Ugh! I kept going for the remaining five minutes to the apt.
When I arrived, I stopped to get the key out of my fanny pack; I looked up...Joe was nowhere to be seen. I checked both sides of the street. I checked past the apt in case he'd somehow gotten ahead of me but missed the apt. I called him.
"Where are you?"
"I don't know. Where are you?"
"I'm at the apartment. I thought you were behind me."
"I was. But then I didn't see you anymore."
"How is that possible? The apartment is a straight shot from the..."
"I'm on Wimmer."
"What?"
"Wimmer. I'm on Wimmer."
"The street?"
"Where are you? I'm telling you I'm on Wimmer."
"What do you see?"
"I'm on Wimmer."
"Yes, I get that...what do you see? What restaurants do you..."
"Where's Wimmer?
"I don't fucking know...tell me what you see."
"A red light."
"Like a traffic..."
"Here's an Italian restaurant. What's the address?"
"I'll send it to you [sending address] put that into maps...you'll just have to find..."
"I'm on Wimmer."
"I can't help you."
"What's the address? Where are you?"
Along the path home, there's a slight bend in the street, Joe missed the "veer right" and ended up a couple of blocks away. He finally came around the corner, head shaking, eyes glazed. But safe.
We're laying low today, and I'm putting a tracker on his phone!
Somehow (surely alcohol had nothing to do with it) we got turned around and went out the wrong side of the festival grounds. And instead of being a seven minute walk back to the apartment, it was about an hour and seven minutes.
It's funny today - although my head hurts when I laugh. Joe and I were arguing about where we were and my inability to find our location on Google Maps. We tried to call Uber, but I couldn't tell them where we were...having no idea myself. I finally realized that we'd gone out the wrong side, and we simply had to go back in, cross the park, and go out the other side. Joe insisted something else, but I'd taken off ahead of him towards the fest and only heard bits of yelling as I strode away.
Once out the other side, things started looking familiar. I turned to confirm with Joe, but he was about 30 yards behind me. Ugh! I kept going for the remaining five minutes to the apt.
When I arrived, I stopped to get the key out of my fanny pack; I looked up...Joe was nowhere to be seen. I checked both sides of the street. I checked past the apt in case he'd somehow gotten ahead of me but missed the apt. I called him.
"Where are you?"
"I don't know. Where are you?"
"I'm at the apartment. I thought you were behind me."
"I was. But then I didn't see you anymore."
"How is that possible? The apartment is a straight shot from the..."
"I'm on Wimmer."
"What?"
"Wimmer. I'm on Wimmer."
"The street?"
"Where are you? I'm telling you I'm on Wimmer."
"What do you see?"
"I'm on Wimmer."
"Yes, I get that...what do you see? What restaurants do you..."
"Where's Wimmer?
"I don't fucking know...tell me what you see."
"A red light."
"Like a traffic..."
"Here's an Italian restaurant. What's the address?"
"I'll send it to you [sending address] put that into maps...you'll just have to find..."
"I'm on Wimmer."
"I can't help you."
"What's the address? Where are you?"
Along the path home, there's a slight bend in the street, Joe missed the "veer right" and ended up a couple of blocks away. He finally came around the corner, head shaking, eyes glazed. But safe.
We're laying low today, and I'm putting a tracker on his phone!
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