January 31, 2003
Mustaches
I don't have one. But I know some people who did.
Our flight was cancelled on Friday. What can you do?
Go to the bars.
This was the first night I had experienced Southern Exposure, fondly referred to as "The Southern"--the smoking bar. Why go to a smoking bar?
Well, it just so happened that Sal and Joel had started celebrating Sal's birthday early, with shots. It also happened that there was a bet on--someone agreed to drink a beer out of somebody else's bunny boot for $150. Yuck.
On weeknights, last call is 10:30, and folks get the boot at 11. Friday is a school night (the whole 6-day work week thing). When we got booted, Sal and Joel headed back to a place called Hut 10. Hut 10 can be reserved for parties; the environmental remediation group had it for the entire weekend. So, we headed to Hut 10, too.
[Jen, Mike, and Rich caught in mid-spin.]
So did a lot of other people. We went from two people (Sal and Joel) to about 20 in the course of ten minutes. It was amazing. Instant party. Music, dancing, beer, wierd Indian(?) video on piercings and rituals.
And, there were pig-piles. It's all about love here in McMurdo. And, apparently, beer.
This also happened to be the big night for the mustache club.
On New Years (if I understand right), 18 men joined the mustache club. Most, if not all, shaved off nice beards or goatees to leave the mustache, each contributing $5 to a pot. The deal was, whoever was left at the end of January took the dough. When I came down from Erebus, Dave, Tad, and Matt (climbing buddies) all had mustaches. Dave had at least warned me. At that time, Matt still had some nice chops going. The next day, they were gone. The idea was to worsen the mustache as time went on, to make the situation more painful. At first, chops and curling mustaches were fine. Then, mustaches had to be neatly trimmed. By the last week of January, they were down to Charlie Chaplins.
Friday, the 31st of January, was the big night. The club had met at lunch the day before and upped the stakes. Eight men remained. Too many. The rules were changed. By midnight, they were all (save Dave, who was on night shift) to meet at Hut 10 with their upper lips covered. At midnight, they would unveil. The catch was now thus: If everyone shaved but one person, that one person would take the pot. If more than one person kept their mustache, they would get nothing, and all those who shaved would split the money. To shave, or not to shave? Some debated all day.
[The masked, maybe mustached men.]
[Matt. He wore not only a balaclava, but a clear plastic mask as well, and just looked downright creepy.]
[What, no mustache? We'll do something about that. Zimm motivated the club, and then proceeded to drop out of the competition. The group then shaved his beard on this fateful night.]
Around midnight, the group unveiled. Shaved. Shaved. Shaved. Shaved. Etc. All shaved? Down to Matt and Tad. 'You take it off.' 'No, you take it off.' Off with the creepy plastic mask. .... Off with the balaclava. What was left?
Matt still had his mustache.
Tad tried to run out of the room. Then, instead, he made much ado out of taking off his balaclava.
Clean and smooth as a babe's bottom.
The only one left was Dave. So, down to the power plant.
[Mostly unmustached men.]
Dave had shaved. This was it. Matt got the money.
And immediately handed half of it off to a certain Patrick, who had fronted the $5 for him. A spendy deal with the devil. If Matt were to lose, he'd be down nothing--Patrick would be down the $5. But, as it was, Patrick got half of Matt's winnings. For not having to wear a mustache at all. The winnings? $100.
Still, Matt basks in his mustached glory. What year is this, anyway?
[Nice night for it. Mt. Discovery in the midnight sun.]
