Stripper of paint, Stripper of memories

Everything that follows is true. Names have been changed to protect the guilty.

The first time I ever tried Everclear, I was in college and, according to The Man, far too young to be doing anything of the sort. Some friends of mine were attending a concert in Philly, and decided to show up outrageously drunk. Seeing as this pregaming session took place in my room, I was of course invited to partake in the jubilation.

A messenger bag was produced, held before the eagerly awaiting revelers with reverence and respect. It was set gently down on a bed with a slight sloshing sound. The bag was unzipped, and a large clear bottle of colorless liquid was produced.

“This,” I was told, in a hushed whisper, “is Everclear.”

I don’t recall the exact details pertaining to its procurement, but I do recall that one person in the room had heard of it before. His eyes lit up at the sight, and an expression of worry crossed his face. His features darkened with concern, he asked:

“Can’t that stuff really fuck you up?”

The presenter, our spirit guide for this upcoming journey of the wills answered only with a sly smile. Without a word, shot glasses were produced. As the drinks were poured, a harsh and acrid smell filled the air. At that point, we knew there was no going back. My roommate was literally bouncing up and down with excitement and anticipation, as the rest of us looked on with awe.

Our shaman held a glass in front of us.

“Who’s gonna go first?”

The room was abuzz with a mix of tension and exhilaration. The cup at last fell to Jay, who agreed to put himself in front of the firing squad for the good of our unit. No blindfold was tied around his eyes, and no last cigarette was granted; he simply took the glass to his lips and threw back his head.

The result was immediate. A shock rolled through his system and there occurred a full-body convulsion that started from the neck downward. I believe he may have coughed up some into his nose because he began yelling “Oh God, my nose! It’s in my fucking nose!” A hooting and a hollering was had, as the hapless Jay horked and coughed.

Up next was Aaron who, bracing for the impact he knew was coming, held his nose as he downed the shot. A shudder coursed through his body and his eyes furrowed together so tightly that his eyebrows looked like two caterpillars fighting. “Jeeesus!” was about all he could muster up. There was a slapping of backs, some hi-fives, and wild whooping.

Then, at last, the sword fell at my feet. I picked it up, prepared to throw myself on it – for honor. I held the shot glass to my nose and inhaled once, gently. It smelled like an oil field on fire, but this would not stop me. I had to do this. I had to climb this mountain; not because it was there, but because I didn’t want to be the last one to the top. I slammed the shot.

It felt like liquid fire coursing down my esophagus. It tasted like the smell of a permanent marker. It was magma, coating my stomach, and it was hell. I don’t mean “hell” in such a way as to imply that it was simply a bad experience – no, I have reason to believe that there were small demons in my stomach, jabbing and slicing at my insides. From hell’s stomach, they stabbed at me.

I distinctly remember not coughing, and standing there proud, like a gladiator might stand atop the corpse of a lion. I placed the shot glass down, and looked our pathfinder in the eyes.

“Another.”

I don’t recall much more of that night except for the general impression that I was unkillable. Seeing as two shots of Everclear failed to knock me on my ass, that may have very well been true.

It would be years before I saw the stuff again. I bought it because it seemed an economical decision at the time – one twenty dollar bottle containing three times the alcohol of a regular bottle of vodka. Of course, I remembered my lesson from years ago, and mixed it heavily with soda and juice in an attempt to dilute it. However, the devils that inhabit those glass bottles are not so easily inhibited. I have a dim memory of watching Ant Man on DVD and chewing idly on the rim of a plastic cup. It turned out, to the horror of all involved, that the cup was a quarter inch thick, and I somehow managed to chew a hole straight through it.

I keep a bottle of the it in my liquor cabinet these days, partly because I now know how to mix it properly so that it doesn’t obliterate one’s mind, but mostly because it’s fun to get guests to try it. It may be a distinctly male trait, but it seems only too easy to trick friends into taking a shot of it by telling them how much they don’t want it. Good fun for everyone involved, as long as you’re not the one drinking.

My roommate once successfully used it to clean out a rifle after firing a few rounds off at the range. He said it worked startlingly well. Another roommate quite literally used it to strip the paint off a wall. I’m amazed the stuff is legal to drink.

As for my recommendation, mix a small amount of the stuff with Mountain Dew or any other citrus-y soda and you’ll be fine. Best of luck to anyone out there brave enough to do the dark deed of taking a shot. You’ll need it.