Reboot

Kevin looked like trouble right from the start. He was twenty-one years old, tall, chubby and a hundred kilos worth of angst. Your basic Cro-Magnon bully poster boy: all forehead and grunts with a dangerous dose of low self-esteem. He wore black. Always. His hair was long and hid his face. He wore leather bands around his knuckles and wrists. His black T-Shirts were always too tight.

He came in with a group, so I thought he was with them, but he was a loner. I didn’t notice at first. I guess I was blind to the fact that some people just don’t fit, even on our island. When he was sober he was ok, just a bit belligerent, rough, but when he was drunk it was an entirely different story. Kevin was a mean drunk who had to be managed.

One evening, he got into an argument with one of the men. Something about unflattering romantic attempts awkwardly aimed at the man’s girlfriend… Oddly, Kevin went after the attached women in particular for some reason. As if he was trying to cause trouble on purpose. A wall of men around him quickly diffused the situation and he wallowed back to his bed and fell into an uncomfortable, sweaty drunken coma.

I expected trouble from young Kevin.

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No matter what, when holding a meeting, someone has to stand up and say “let’s begin the meeting, everybody shut up.” That person was me. No one else wanted to do it. Nobody objected, so..,

I’m not used to public speaking and it’s a scary thing for anyone. But these were my friends and they made me feel at ease. My hands would sweat beforehand though. We were in our new hall. I was at one end, standing on the dais. There were two hundred people in front of me.

“Ok let’s begin. Everyone shut up. Please. Thank youuuu.”

“I’d like to welcome our new arrivals.” I pointed to a group of people standing behind me. William wasn’t there.

Everyone clapped heartily.

“And our new still.” I pointed to it. Stiller was beaming next to it. It was a small one on wheels because those things stink. Has to be mobile.

Everyone freaked out.

“Yeah, yeah.. calm down. We’ll test it later. Jeez. But listen, please, it makes a coconut based moonshine that can also be used as jet fuel, or rust remover. It’s very good for cleaning paintbrushes also, but it has the same effect on your brain so let’s be careful with that stuff, ok? I’m serious now.” I pushed on… Starting with the usual:

“We suggest that you wash everything. Just in case some fallout makes it all the way here. We just don’t know, so washing everything you touch or especially ingest is a simple way to protect ourselves a bit. Peeling your fruits and veggies is also a good thing to consider.”

“Do you know what it’s like back home? I mean has anyone got any info?” someone yelled out.

“No. We can only speculate. The only thing we know for sure is that it’s best to stay away from affected areas as long as possible and that we are ok here. More than ok if you ask me,” I continued. “Anyone seen William? He should be here.” I looked at Bob and he shrugged. “Anything else?” I asked the crowd.

“I’d like to get to work on making honey,” said François, surprising all of us.

“That is a fantastic idea,” I answered. “Just tell us what you need and we’ll be glad to help.” I gave a last look around at everyone, they were all soundlessly begging to move on to the final subject. “Anyone have anything else to bring up?”

-Crickets-

I looked at the still and yelled, “OK Stiller? Let’s try this thing.” And I clapped my hands.

“YAAAAAA!” And everyone lined up. Stiller poured the first shots to me and Bob. Everyone watched our reactions. I gingerly took what I thought was a reasonable sip. I burnt my lip. My eyes watered. Bob coughed, fell down on his ass and changed color to a curiously entertaining greenish purple. I think he popped a vein. His left eye started to bleed.

“Samson’s hair!“ he screamed when his voice came back. He tried three times to make a sound until, “What the hell is this stuff?” he squeaked. “It tastes like – oh Christ - like old socks, nitroglycerine and the sweat off a dead snail’s balls.” He looked at me for answers and I could only shake my head, very carefully. I thought if I talked, my head would roll off my shoulders in protest.

I finally came up for air with a strained whisper, “Snails don’t have balls.”

“I can feel my intestines melting,” he added. The second shot was better, easier, but not by much.

“Don’t shake that bottle,” I warned. “It’ll explode. My hair is sweating. My fingernails hurt. Can’t feel my teeth. Can you feel your teeth?” He shook his head. “Ouch!” He said, “Don’t shake your head!” I knew it.

People laughed at us and the line started moving. Reactions were varied and creative. I saw William finally. He was off to the side, watching and smiling. He wasn’t ready to join in. I raised my glass to him and he nodded. We got drunk very quickly. I would need to talk to Stiller about this. We needed to cut this stuff to a more reasonable proof level to preserve sanity.

Now, getting these people falling down drunk has its ups and downs. Some people have fun, sing and play games. Others wallow in self-pity and sob uncontrollably. But I tried not to overthink it. We all needed time.