It was the beginning of the end. It was the last memory any of us remember…
Sixteen shots of Turkish Pepper were lined up in front of the four of us. The first and second went down easily. The third was slightly more difficult. I recall holding the fourth shot in my hand and toasting to Thailand. Then …. nothing …. everything is a blank.
Seven- I woke up hours later on the street soaking wet. Through the haze I have no idea where I am or what the fuck happened. All I know is that I’m lying on the street outside in the middle of a storm. I am wet and I am cold.
Friend 3- He calls me in the morning. He wakes up in his bed and remembers nothing beyond the fourth shot.
Roommate- He remembers bits and pieces. He saw me lying on the street muttering incoherent words. He crashed his motor bike twice on the drive home.
Friend 4- He woke up on a mysterious bench soaking wet.
It’s like a real life version of the movie, “Hangover”.
I scramble for my phone. I have no idea where I am or how I got there. All I know is the urge to throw up is never ending. I throw up once, twice, then a third time. I hurt and the world is spinning.
I look at my phone and can’t make out the numbers. I randomly push buttons but nothing is working. I throw my phone.
The time is a mystery, the place is a mystery, and the night is a mystery…
I look up and see the entire street pitch black. There are no people around and everything is eerily quiet.
There is a storm raging over my head. I’m soaking wet but continue to lie down trying to make sense of what happened.
After an inconceivable amount of time, I finally force myself up and walk towards the light. Where is Roommate? Where is Friend 3? Where is Friend 4?
I trip and fall into a puddle of water. I feel nothing except confusion and pain. Lying in the puddle I forgot what it was that I was doing…
I black out and wake up in a taxi throwing up. Somehow I manage to give him directions to my home. The taxi pulls up and I see Roommate stumbling outside near the swimming pool with “my” bed sheet wrapped around his shoulders like a cape. I think to myself:
I run towards him screaming that I need 300 baht or the taxi driver is going to kill me. He falls to the ground and somehow manages to produce 300 baht. The taxi driver takes my money, shakes my hand, and thanks me. The imaginary threat a few moments ago is all but forgotten.
The apartment is a disaster. Chairs are lying on the floor as if thrown around. The sofa has moved to the other side of the living room. Thousands of Thai baht are scattered on the floor. Then there is Roommate….
He’s crawling on the floor dry heaving, spitting all over himself and the living room. At some point my girlfriend comes home and attempts to take control of the situation. She can not.
Roommate crawls into my bed. I yell at him to get the fuck out of my bed. He spits and nearly vomits. I try to pick him up, but only manage to pull him out of my bed by his arm. Between my girlfriend and I, we are able to put him in his own bed.
Exhausted, drunk, wet, dirty, and having no idea what happened, I crawl into my bed. As I close my eyes I hear the words of my girlfriend:
“I fuck another man tonight.”
My world comes crashing down. The next thing I know she is walking out the door. I am enraged and pick up a bowl from the kitchen to throw. My throw wasn’t close. The bowl shatters on the newly paved road more than 10 meters from her.
I look up and see a Thai family staring down at me from their second floor apartment. I wave to them. They hesitantly wave back.
Two hours later I receive a text message,
“I never took a man. I drink 2 much. I love you.”
I don’t believe her…
- – - – - – - – - – -
My phone rings with Friend 3 telling me the last thing he remembers are the 16 shots and waking up in his bed next to his girlfriend 7 hours later. I hang up and go back to sleep.
He calls me 2 hours later telling me the last thing Friend 4 remembers are the 16 shots.
Friend 3 tries to trace back the night. He has a receipt for McDonalds from 3:47am and his girlfriend said they talked on the phone shortly after. He recalls nothing of this.
He inspected his car. Some vomit on the outside, but nothing else unusual. He is shocked to find out that he drove home. And even more shocked to find his car in one piece…
- – - – - – - – - – -
“Roommate!” I yell for the third time trying to wake him up. He looks like I feel.
He remembers the most out of all us, which doesn’t say much. He remembers seeing me lie on the street outside a random bar muttering words no one can understand. He remembers walking to a dance club that is near by.
(I thank him for his concern.)
Next thing he knows he’s in a taxi taking him back to the restaurant where his motorbike was parked that night.
The employees see him stumbling towards the door nearly tripping over his own feet. They run to give him water as quickly as possible.
He wakes up in a ditch on the side of the road with his motorbike on top of him. He manages to pick it up and continues his drive…nothing….he wakes up again in another ditch with his motorbike on top of him.
Judging by the lack of physical damage to him, it appears both times were at low speed. Neither of us have the courage to see what kind of condition the bike is in.
It’s 6:41pm the next day. Roommate is asleep again. I am unable to sleep. My body is experiencing the worst hangover of my life. My heart feels broken from my girlfriend’s betrayal and the room won’t stop spinning…
Still, I can’t help but smile and say to myself,
P.S. To this day we still have no idea what were in those shots. Was it roofies or just a shit load of Turkish Pepper? We’ll never know. But ever since that night I refuse to drink at Viking Bar and the thought of Turkish Pepper disgusts me.
Posted on Gods of Thailand January 7, 2011 in Stories of Seven