A Monkey Stole My Juice

Monkey Juice 02Last Tuesday, I went hiking up Monkey Mountain again, with Erika and a couple of her friends visiting from Canada. Like last time, it was quite the hot and humid climb. Unlike last time, however, I was also hungover.

You see, there’s a bowling league here. It’s mostly Westerners – it gives us all a chance to hang out together once a week and have some drinks and bowl. I have joined said league, and while my bowling has been atrocious, it’s a heck of a lot of fun. But it’s on Monday nights. There’s a reason for this – as I’ve mentioned before, Tuesday is the one day of the week that just about every teacher doesn’t start until 5 pm. So Monday’s the perfect day to have a bowling league night. Unless you’ve agreed to hike the next day.

So after falling into my bed in an altered state around 2 am, I was begrudgingly awake at 8:45, a bit wobbly and smelling of beer. But I made it to Erika’s by 9, we loaded her friends on our scooters and made our way to my favorite little breakfast place (the one where I realized I totally understood Chinese). Being as that my mouth felt like I’d inhaled a cotton field and tasted like I’d eaten a stray cat, I needed fluids, and fast. I bought a giant bottle of water, as well as a bottle of fresh-squeezed orange juice. I downed most of the water and about half of the juice during breakfast. I felt a little better by the time we set out on the hike.

Let me tell you this. Do not hike up a mountain if you are hungover. Granted, I’ve let myself get a little out of shape since I left Austin, but still. The difference between my two hikes borders on ridiculous. About halfway through this hike, I was ready to surrender, lie down on the wooden planks, and let the monkeys have their way with me. But somehow I fought through it, and I made it once more to the top. Barely. I made the last final climb a good minute behind the other three; but I eventually ascended to the beautiful finish line, once again overlooking the mountain and the ocean.

Unlike last time, though, the monkeys for which the mountain is named were everywhere at the top of the mountain. Babies, mamas, baby mamas’ mamas… everywhere. They were playing, fighting, screaming, screwing, and everything else you imagine monkeys do. There was no poop-throwing, however; and for that, we were grateful. They were either paying no mind to the fact that no less than 15 humans were up there, or they were putting on a show for us. Either way, it was a splendid scene.

Our foursome managed to find a couple of benches right in front of the top railing that overlooks the magnificent view. I was about ready to pass out and praised Jesus for my remaining water and juice. I gulped down the last several ounces of water and then took out the juice. I set the bottle of juice beside me, eagerly anticipating yet another cool refreshing (and this time citrus-y!)  bath for the innards of my abused body. It was about this time that a monkey suspiciously crept between our two benches, eyeing everything in his wake. Clearly he was up to something. We all saw him and clutched our backpacks and cameras. He then hopped up onto the railing in front of us and looked each of us in the eye. Then, in one amazing motion, he jumped to the ground right in front of me, grabbed the bottle of juice, looked at me with a “da hell you gonna do about it?” face, hopped back onto the railing and then scampered up a tree.

I was actually more delighted than upset. It was pretty awesome. Everyone was laughing. Would he throw it at another monkey? At us? Or would he try to drink it? Well, apparently he was thirsty, and he went to work. He had no interest whatsoever in unscrewing the top. Instead, he tried biting the bejeezus out of the bottom of the plastic bottle; and after a few minutes, the little bastard succeeded. He then squeezed what he could into his mouth, while big errant drips of OJ ran down the front of his torso and dripped onto us underneath. For more than five minutes, he squeezed and squeezed – the plastic bottle crunching with every movement – and he got every last drop possible. And as soon as it was completely empty, he casually threw the bottle down from his perch 15 feet above. Right at my feet. It’s like he was saying, “Okay, thanks. You can recycle it now, ass clown. I haven’t the time.”

I would have been pissed if it wasn’t so damn funny and fantastic. But it was pretty funny and fantastic.

After the jump, enjoy VIDEO and more pictures of the monkey enjoying my hard-earned juice.

~ by Nick on October 2, 2009.

6 Responses to “A Monkey Stole My Juice”

  1. Next time get the monkeys to eat a poison apple.


  3. lol. Your interpretation of the monkey’s thoughts was fantastic 🙂

  4. Apparently monkeys use harsh and abrasive language. I had no idea.

    I think, if you are ever to mount Monkey Mountain again, you have to assert your dominance. You’re going to have to either steal something from this monkey, or sleep with his bride. You pick.

  5. […] wanted a pet monkey at some point? They’re just awesome little buggers, even when they steal your juice and drink it in front of you. But monkeys as a formula for hip fashion? That’s not really something you’re gonna see […]

  6. […] in this “mountain” on East Railay. When we got there, we realized this would not be a Monkey Mountain-esque hike: that is to say, there were no stairs up this mountain – this was a real full-body […]

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