The true story of the first time I ever went out drinking, part 2.

So I left you with an unfair cliffhanger yesterday, readers.

Where was I?

Ah yes, a bunch of unchaperoned 17 year old girls out at a bar called the Gilded Butterfly (which, by the way, is now closed down) in downtown Beijing. With kamikaze shots.

How many kamikaze shots, you may ask?

30. I know this because I wrote it down in my diary. Yes, I had a diary. Shut up.

And we drank them all. 6 girls, 30 shots. My first time ever drinking. I was ambitious.

Of course, as all this is happening the girls are referring to me as the grand Poobah of drinking because they think I’m some sort of rebel badass and I’m totally rolling with it, as you do. It was like Mean Girls does China.

That’s when this story starts to get a little crazy.

See, I mentioned before that the girl who was at the helm of this clinical insanity was crazy rich. Like, has her own chauffeured car rich (I think it was a Range Rover? Shiny black SUV looking thing). So we get back into the car and we go to another club which has this crazy Chinese name and we cut the line and she pays us all in and we go up to the VIP area and we are almost immediately served two more shots each, one of which was ON FIRE and the other one was mainly whipped cream. Maybe the whipped cream was a chaser? I don’t know.

So at this point I’m feeling pretty snookered, but as it was my first time being drunk ever I had no idea what was going on and there was of course no way in hell I was going to admit anything, because I’d taken like 6 shots at this point and apparently that made me The Queen of Drinking. So when the girls asked me if I wanted to dance I said no because I secretly was no longer in control of my feet.

So they scuddle off to dance and I’m there sitting on a couch in the VIP section looking either like the Queen of the Hop or a hot mess (or both) and this big burly looking guy comes over says that he’s the captain of (I can’t remember what country it was. Thailand’s? Indonesia’s? Somewhere in Asia’s) Olympic Judo team, and that he’s there doing training stuff because the Olympics are next summer, and would I like a drink (note to self – why would I write down that we have 30 shots but neglect to put down what country the Judo guy was from?? Irresponsible).

I think my response to this question was something along the lines of “buuuhh?” 

He bought me a Smirnoff Ice which I originally thought was non-alcoholic but turned out not to be, and we danced for a bit on a stage of some sorts, and then it gets little hazy. At some point the girls came and dragged my away from good old whats-his-face Judo guy and took me home, where we had to break back in and lock ourselves into the school and creep upstairs.

And then the next day I found out what a hangover was.

Moral of the story- Go to China.

One comment

  1. Pingback: The true story of the first night I ever went out drinking, part 1 | her name was cassandra

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