Sunday Herald Dec. 28, 2003

Chris Lee

"The pill that came in from the cold…"
In the name of journalistic enterprise, I took it upon myself to field test RU-21 to ascertain for once and for all if the product could do everything it is said to do. My plan was to make the rounds at a downtown New York nightspot and subject my body to more than a few surefire hangover-inducing beverages on consecutive nights – one night with the aid of RU-21 and the other night, without. There would be control measures: I would eat exactly the same amount leading up to my drinking sessions and regardless of whatever advanced state of drunkenness I achieved, I would meticulously monitor my intake.

On the first night, on a reasonably full stomach (two slices of pizza and a Pepsi) I set off for lower Manhattan’s infamous Waikiki Wally’s. This Hawaiian-themed restaurant bar boasts an extensive selection of tropical resort drinks and kitschy grass-hut décor. I reasoned the high-sugar content and potent blending of alcohols such drinks offered would more or less guarantee a hangover. I was not disappointed.

I began by quickly consuming two Mai-Tais, followed by two house special Zombies before the bartender cautioned, “Whoah, you might want to slow down on those. They call them Zombies for a reason, you know.”

Ignoring him, I ordered a Pina Colada, recording the consumption of each frothy, umbrella-laden drink in a stained spiral notebook. By the fourth drink, my notebook also began to fill with anatomically incorrect caricatures of the bar’s patrons and random philosophical musings: “Ukelele music can fill a good man with rage.” When the sugar content of the cocktails proved overwhelming, I left. Stopping in at my local bar on the way home, I downed a large bourbon for good measure.

That night, I managed to fall asleep with my shoes on and woke early the next morning to one of the more toxic hangovers in recent memory: puffy, bleary eyes, delicate stomach, and the obligatory splitting headache.

Although I found my productivity greatly diminished by day, I had recovered sufficiently by nightfall to resume the experiment – this time with the aid of RU-21. Something of a sceptic by nature, my expectations were low, and I wasn’t at all keen on the idea of spending an evening swallowing pills in plain sight of the whole bar. However, opening the pack of RU-21, I was pleasantly surprised to discover they are small and discreet, the size of most flu tablets. Tossing a few inconspicuously back would be no problem.

After the pizza and Pepsi, I returned to Waikiki Wally’s. The bartender’s eyes widened in surprise when I ordered my first Mai Tai. By the time I started ordering Zombies again, he was looking at me with awe. I replicated my drinks diet of the previous evening, taking two pills every other drink as advised on the packet. I discerned no notable impact on my level of intoxication. By the Pina Colada round, I was pie-eyed again and struggled through the homeward bourbon.

I don’t know whether to be pleased or ashamed to say that the next morning, I felt absolutely fine. I expected to feel like my liver had fallen out. But besides a wrenching thirst and profound cottonmouth, there seemed to be no physical evidence of what I had put myself through the night before.

Over the course of my highly unscientific experiment, RU-21 had indeed made an impressive showing. I marvelled at the possibility of a world without hangovers, a world in which pleasure need not be counterbalanced by pain. After some consideration, however, the idea struck me as hollow. I hate hangovers as much as the next man, but as crazy as this may sound, they may be a necessary evil, the thing that keeps consumption reasonable and, by extension, fun. Maybe the smart thing would be to learn to regard throbbing heads and churning stomachs, once our mortal enemies, as our friends. You could call it glasnostu