Charge Me With DUI

Thursday night. I'm down to my last hundred and last few ounces of sanity. Self-proclaimed fag hag Johanna called; said a girlfriend is celebrating her birthday at Qube and they need a bodyguard. I'm thinking Kevin Costner and she's thinking Jap. It didn't take long to persuade me. I'm broke but I've got a quarter bottle of cheap vodka sitting in my closet. I told Johanna I'll meet them at the club after I pre-party in my room.

Sugar-free Red Bull, 7-Up Free, and bottled water on my table. Not much of a choice. I took two generous shots of vodka 7-up, straight, barely mixed in a paper cup. I was smiling silly as I brushed my teeth and waved goodnight to Khalid. I crisscrossed my way to the bus stop and counted the amused knowing smiles of passersby. I waited for a taxi. I wished a private taxi would pick me up before I wore off my high. And just like a manipulative scene from the Ocean's 11 franchise a private taxi pulls up in front of me almost immediately.

10 minutes and 10 riyals later I'm standing outside Qube trying to figure out the new entrance. Enter through the hotel lobby, a voice from somewhere. I started to walk and caught a glimpse of another lost patron; told him to join me. Tall, chubby, buttoned-up Lebanese picked up my pace and handed me a Red. Thanks, but no. I took out my Lights and as I lit, I saw a tattoo on his arm--a sorry little "F". Nice tattoo, must stand for your name, huh? He misunderstood because he said it means 'I love my mother'. He moved closer and there it was, just below the "F", a faint line of Arabic script. When we got to security check, I unbuttoned F's shirt, told him to loosen up and wished him luck with the girls.

Johanna's troops weren't around yet so I decided to sustain tipsy, headed to the bar and had a beer in less than five minutes. Lights flashed and my smile widened. Who said I was lonely? No one could tell. The girls arrived, I counted four and I greeted happy birthday to two before I got the right one. Dance was their plan and with inhibition fading with each burp, I gladly strutted with them. We danced like a tribe, their big bags--in the middle of our circle--our bonfire. Almost an hour on the dance floor before the girls got drinks. They tabled me like a gigolo and gave me a beer, I'm losing it with each sip.

After another bottle of beer I was already laughing for no reason. Destination: dance floor, again, but I needed more fuel. I went to the bar and asked for Corona Extra. Loud music. Corona Extra. The bartender mouthed some words to confirm my drink. I said yes. I ended up with a big glass of vodka, some other alcohol and cola. Sweet! Back to the girls and go crazy.

Men from all over the world have already invaded my tribe and the girls kept chanting, brushing them off, the men got all the more challenged. This is where I come in, the reason why they asked me to go out with them in the first place--to protect them from men who won't leave Qube without pussy. Instead of pushing them out of our circle, I sexy-danced with each man who tried to score with my girls. They danced with me for a few seconds then moved away and decided to stalk another group instead. Lovely tactic, and everyone in my tribe is safe and happy. Everyone.

Lights on at 2:30 AM. The girls have left a little earlier. I barely made it to a cab, cursed every roundabout on the way home. Puke was threatening with each step to my room. I made it. Stripped, resigned to the spinning room, slept.

I woke up at 4PM, fresh, without the smell of alcohol (the wonders of vodka) and just minor cigarette stench. But I limped all the way to the bathroom. I probably tore a tendon from all the grinding, I didn't feel it while dancing under the influence.