Might as well put your passport through that shredder of yours because you’ll never, ever need to use it to get your international drink on!
Most people think that Walt Disney World is a place full of screaming families, of obese people on segways, and of turkey legs, my god are all the turkeys in wheelchairs because turkey legs y’all!
Well, they’re right. But lo and behold, the antidote is also right next to the poison in this case.
It’s just as Mary Poppins says: a spoonful of drinking makes the medicine go down. Of course, I’m paraphrasing.
Epcot, named after Walt Disney’s lofty goal to create an Experimental Prototype Community of Tomorrow (basically a real life Tomorrowland), is home to World Showcase, a ring of roughly a dozen countries (and in one case, an entire continent) centered around a lagoon, but guess what? Each pavilion has alcohol. Carousing through the World Showcase is kind of like taking a drunken World History class, where you’re not really taught anything, and you’re drunk, and your teacher’s drunk too.
Over the course of a single day, I managed to drink at each and every single one of those countries. Except for France, but I’ll get to that. That’s twelve different pavilions in under 12 hours. Except for France, but I’ll get to that. Do I expect to be inducted in to the U.N. immediately as President of the General Assembly? Of course. Do I expect each country to welcome me with open arms?
Except for France, but I’ll get to that.
So join me as I take you nation-by-inebriated nation throughout the hodgepodge of sovereign states that I liquored myself up in.
Here’s me drinking at the German pavilion. There’s a guy on a horse stabbing a dragon, so yes, they DO watch Game of Thrones in Germany.
I started imbibing in earnest in Germany, because hey, I wanted to be ruthlessly efficient. I got their Oktoberfest beer, and with real Germans working behind the counter serving me, saying “bitte” to my every request, I really felt like I could scream “Ich bin ein Beer-liner!” World War? What World War?!
Then I went to the English pavilion, and got a personal favorite of mine: Boddingtons Ale. It’s creamy, it has hints of honey, and the Rose & Crowne pub feels like the only place a person could really get into a real brawl with some gits and chavs on Disney property.
You want your beer looking like this, not your water… unless you’re the next Erin Brokovich.
I eventually took my Boddingtons to go. You can’t see, but there was a topiary version of Peter Pan on top of the roof behind me. Get off that roof, Peter. That’s how kids die.
I felt my t-shirt with Ron Swanson painted in the fashion and pattern of the American flag sent the right message to the Brits working at the pavillion: don’t get too comfortable in Epcot. #NeverForget #1776
I eventually got dinner with my family at Canada’s posh Le Cellier restaurant. Of course, I had to order the Blanche de Chambly, which, contrary to popular belief, is not a main character in a Tennessee Williams play.
Does this beer count as free healthcare? Well, if it were free, then yes. Yes, it would.
Finally, I got a margarita at the Mexico pavilion before heading into the great Stairmaster behind me. I mean, Mesoamerican pyramid.
At one point, I entered a Tequila bar. There, I met several folk in their early 20s who had just finished drinking around the world. Now, I’m old. I’m 27 going on 45 it feels like sometime. Like “get off my lawn” old. However, at the time, I thought that if these cool, fist-bumping youngens can complete the feat, so can I. Right?
Wrong. I should have heeded the omen that after Mexico my phone died. I was placed in the same technological darkness that our cavemen ancestors faced. Well, at least according to Spaceship Earth. Thanks, Dame Judi Dench!
After Mexico I drank plum wine in China, some more wine in Africa, I believe a Chardonnay in Italy, Sam Adams in America because America f*ck yeah, some sake in Japan, and even more wine in Morocco.
To be fair, by the time I reached Morocco, this was me:
“No, don’t make me drink in France. For the love of Hogwarts, don’t make me drink in France.”
I eyed the nearby French pavilion with disgust and hatred, and for the first time, it wasn’t due to my crippling Francophobia.
I couldn’t drink anymore. My body was, if I had to take a statistical guess, 40% wine at the time. So, I did the sensible thing and got the hell out of Epcot.
So, if you’re thinking about drinking around the world, do it. But heed my warning. If I couldn’t do it, you might not. Or you might.
All I know is that when push came to shove, I surrendered to France. When has that ever happened before?