It did not take long traveling with our new road-trip companions for Rob and I to appreciate how good a call it was for us to squeeze into the backseat. Unlike us, these boys had a car, a plan, and after camping out at R&V, had friends all over New Zealand.
Driving towards Christchurch, they sent out a couple of texts to see if we could find some fun and a place to crash for the night. We quickly got a response from one of the army nut jobs our new boys had been hanging with and were excited by the proposition he presented.
Despite being nearly impossible to decipher, the text used some advanced version of Kiwi lingo to essentially say, “We can sneak you guys into the army base, get black out drunk, and then you can crash in the barracks.” You talked us into it!
The army boys told us to meet them in a parking lot “just outside of town.” Ignoring the fact that it sounded like they were planning on challenging us to a duel, we hit up the BK lot and waited. Out of no where, a black sports car came flying towards us only to slam on its breaks just in time to pull into the adjacent parking spot instead of ending all our lives.
“Jesus I thought you were going to kill us!”
“I know, I did too!”
This first exchange solidified the “fucking insane” label our new army friends had been given. This sentiment was only strengthened when they said as soon as Charlie had texted them they both immediately cancelled their plans and picked up “heaps” of “piss”.
“Ahhhhh sorry baby, we can’t hang out tonight, I’ve gotta get on the piss with these American boys!”
Because obviouslyyyyy whatever they got wasn’t going to be enough, we made a quick stop at the piss shop to pick up a little more. As chill of a place as New Zealand is, I think it is worth noting they are pretty strict about carding. They made all seven of us show our ID in order to buy two more cases which, although slightly annoying, was only a minor speed bump because we aren’t sophomores in high school.
As we arrived to the gates, we began discussing what the actual “plan” was for sneaking into the New Zealand military base. One of our new friends was an active member of the NZ military and currently lived in the barracks while the other one was a former member of the military that apparently had since left the army.
This made for one guy that was allowed in and six others in need of smuggling.
Parking our car behind some bushes just outside the fence, we tossed around a couple of plans to get us all safely inside. Although I have never tried to sneak into a United States military base before, I’ve got a gut feeling you would have to come up with a plan a little more elaborate than the one we went with.
What makes me say that you ask? Well I guess looking back; it could have been a couple of things…
It could have been deciding to squeeze four people in the backseat of an extremely small car while there were cases of beer and a couple of bottles of alcohol clearly in visible.
Or maybe it was, instead of taking two trips, the former army member deciding to jump the barbed wire fence and meet us at the barracks. (When asked later what would happen if he was caught he “reckoned” he’d get thrown in military jail for the night so when he did see a security guard he ran away… just in case).
But in all probability it was the story we were told while we were laughing that all we had to do to get in was hold up an ID the size of a driver’s license as we drove past an 80 year old guy at the gate.
“Oh yea, that guy doesn’t give a fuck, one time we got so pissed we lost our ID card so we just flashed a McDonald’s hash brown and still got in!”
Once we got over the fact that it was harder to get into the Country Club of Fairfield than a Kiwi military base we soon realized there were a number of other things that made their military a little bit different/chiller than ours.
Since New Zealand doesn’t have a whole lot of natural resources (outside their 20 million sheep, of course) and they are too small of a military to ever go to war with anyone, it makes being in the army much chiller. As far as we could tell, their army is essentially one big frat and their barracks are nothing more than a frat house that they get paid to live in, get jacked, and hang out with their boys (not a bad deal). With most of the soldiers still on holiday, we pretty much had the whole place to ourselves and didn’t waste much time before getting rowdy.
Our night was filled with an aggressive mixture of Kiwi and American drinking games, a whole lot of shot-gunning, and a newly adopted motto of “no man spews alone”. This motto is the epitome of unnecessary binge drinking; however, it also has the undeniable ability to turn throwing up into a unique bonding experience- one that only becomes possible when a man forcefully makes himself throw up, not because he has to or wants to, but because his friend is doing it (Since our parents read this blog we figured we would leave the GoPro footage out).
We had a whole bunch of laughs throughout the night and, as a new comer in the group, I eventually settled for a chair in the common room as my bed for the evening. As I went to sleep, wool army blanket wrapped around my body and fresh vomit on my breath, I couldn’t help but laugh thinking, not quite your average Sunday night.
Moral of the Story: If your going to order an Egg McMuffin, you might as well get the hash brown too… it may get you into a New Zeland military base some day!