Cloche

This last weekend has absolutely worn me down. Nothing especially intriguing happened, I’ve just been running about and I’m just tired.

Friday night there were a bunch of people in town for a girls’ conference. There’d been sessions and meetings and whatnot all week for about fifty Mauritanian high school girls and their Peace Corp volunteer chaperons. The conference ended and most of the volunteers escorted their charges back to their sites, but there were a few people left around.

We all got together, did a little drinking and then headed out to the Salamander. The DJ has been getting better in recent months, but he was not doing especially well. I was looking for some techno or hip hop, you know, dance music. All that he was doing though was some salsa and Arabic stuff.

I did get to be a bootlegger and that was entertaining. I had a bottle of whiskey and bottle of vodka in my little backpack and people’d buy mixers and I’d spike it up for them. The fact that I’d smuggled the booze across international borders made it all the more entertaining.

Relatively early in the evening a googly chunk of our group called it quits. The music wasn’t really grabbing me and I was thinking about doing the same. Lewis grabbed me though and said I ought to hang around for a couple more songs, so I did. They did a bit better and I got a bit of dancing in. The place wasn’t really doing very well though and relatively soon we headed to the VIP.

Well, most of us did. Marc stayed back to try and convince an alluring Spanish senorita to accompany us. Things did not work out apparently since he arrived at the club alone about ten minutes later. They’d not checked my bag at the door, so I got to continue my reign as goto guy. I still wasn’t really entertained. The music was more danceable, but so incredibly loud that I thought my ears were going to start bleeding.

The group dynamic had also shifted significantly. Nate and Cailin were occupied conoodling on the dance floor. Marc and Lewis were busy working their respective brands of magic on Jenny. I was left pretty much to my own devices. My recent frustrations in Saint Louis left me not really feeling like hitting on anyone. I especially did not feel like hitting on Jenny. She is:

  1. gorgeous
  2. flirtatious
  3. fickle

Whereas I am:

  1. gawking
  2. pliable
  3. melodramatic

This is a definite recipe for me to spend time being dramatic. It is a habit I am working hard to break with limited success. In any case I’d definitely not put myself in competition with Marc and Lewis who have had more sex in the last two months than I have in my whole twenty-seven years.

So, I sat down for a bit, had a cigarette and another drink and waited to see if the music would grab me. That last drink was a bad idea. It put me over the line and I felt myself go. I definitely didn’t feel like hanging around at that point so I packed up my booze bag and headed out.

In what is decidedly one of my larger displays of impropriety, I stopped on the side of the road to have a brief sit down. I sent M a text and told her that if I wasn’t home by morning to come find me on the side of the road. I was just being funny, but then I decided to lie back and the next thing I know some fellow in a boubou is kicking me telling me I can’t sleep here. I was mortified and apologized profusely before a taxi happened by and saved me further embarrassment.

When I got out of the taxi Lewis walked up. It turns out they’d left very shortly after I had and they were at a restaurant by my house having a sandwich. I was still completely hammered and not really in any condition to chat, but I went over and joined them regardless. I was curious how they’d beaten me home. There were conflicting reports as to how exactly it happened but Jenny had left and the boys shortly thereafter.

M texted me at that point and asked if I was alright. As I was responding Marc wandered off. When he came back he informed us there was an excellent place to be sick right around the corner. I’d never really been sick intentionally before, but when I checked I felt like I could and I’ve heard it is better to do that than be hung over the next day. So, I figured what the hell and went and puked. Not that difficult or traumatic all in all.

I wandered back home after that and crashed. An examination of my phone the next day showed there was less than ten minutes between my message to M telling her I was sitting down and my subsequent message saying that I was fine and headed home. So, the guy must have come up to me as soon as I lay back. It was just horribly embarrassing, as I said.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *