Tragedy: German Embassy runs out of beer!

So I get invited to a Canadian Thanksgiving dinner hosted by Canadians In Kuwait, and decide that I should attend. Pretty much every western person I've met here is from my school, and I feel like it is a good thing to branch out and meet some new people. Plus, I'm a sucker for turkey, gravy, and mashed potatoes, so I figured if all else goes south, I've got a little bit in my belly. I'm not really sure what I expected, but it was an interesting event. They locale was very plush. The event was held on a giant, dry docked ship. It was truly impressive in terms of both scale and craftsmanship (see picture below). The crowd was a bit odd though. It felt a bit like I was on a movie set where people were just extras pretending to be party goers. They were nice, as Canadians tend to be I suppose, if just a little bit stoic. We drank apple and guava juice out of champagne glasses like we were kids playing grownup. Yippee!

Into the hull of the ship we went, and grab a table at random where we knew nobody. We introduce ourselves, order more apple juice, listen to a speech from some attache from the Canadian embassy, and duly stand for a rather poor rendition of the Canadian national anthem, which sounded like it was being played by a group of drunk middle schoolers. We quickly struck up a conversation with the couple sitting next to us. He was German, and she was Canadian. They admitted that they were unhappy with the lack of alcohol at the function (much as we all were), and launched into a story about their previous night. They had been at some function at the German embassy and had had the great fortune of drinking heavily. The night turned into something out of college where they got hammered, drove home drunk (not remembering the drive), but stopping first to get Dominos pizza on the way home. She was on her way to being drunk again having smuggled in some hooch in her purse and pouring some into both her juice and her Coke (I liked this woman), while he launched into a story about his embassy.

He was particularly unhappy that he was told, when he went to get another beer, that the embassy had run out of beer. "Can you BELIEVE zat? Zay told me zat  zay had no more beerah! Since when do Germans ever run out of BEERAH?!?" At this point I have to nod and concede the point. To my knowledge, outside of the siege at Stalingrad, the Germans have never been without ze beerah. And now he is really worked up and enjoying his outrage from the previous night. He talked about how he threw a little bit of a fit and was confronted by the German Ambassador himself, who basically told him, again that they were out of beer. "What an azzhole!" he kept saying. "and he couldn't even speak English well. I agreed again saying that two things I hated were being cut off by those with poor English skills, particularly German azzholes. He got a big kick out of this and grinned broadly, buoyed by my support. Then he turns to his girlfriend and says, incredulously, "Zhen, she goes up to him, with ze BIG BOOBS and ze BLONDE HAIR, and he gives her a BIG hug and (that's right, you guessed it) MORE BEERAH!" I look again at her and indeed, she is an attractive woman who is clearly proud of her boobs, and I can see how she would garner a hug and more drinks. "Zey had more beerah for her, but not for me. Not for ze German. Zat guy iz an azzhole!!"

I need to hang out with this guy more often, and I need to get myself invited to some embassy parties. I need to go to a tailor and get a suit made so I have something to wear. I need ze BEERAH!