Making out with dudes, pissing off Uber rides, and getting lost in Bahrain

I was stationed in Bahrain for a year, and it was a pretty dark point in my life. The reasons why will be found in some other memoir, but not today. Fear not; this entire story is about being blackout drunk in a country I didn’t understand. No weepy bullshit today.

WHAT I’M SAYING IS that I drank a lot that year.

This is a retelling of events I do not recall, told to me by others who were present. I was there, and I committed these actions, but I only remember the following two:

– Tried to make friends with a guitarist on stage. May have been mildly successful. Memory unclear.

– Briefly stepped on stage to get to the other side. Was immediately removed from the stage. Security at this bar doesn’t fuck around. This becomes a recurring theme.

I don’t remember anything throughout the rest of this entry. Not a single bit, not even hazy or blurry memories.

– My friend Locke bursts out laughing as he sees me “pornographically making out with” some dude in the corner of the bar (hand behind his head, his hand on my thigh, me unbuttoning his shirt, etc). All while rejecting some other guy next to us who we named ‘beard guy.’ Beard Guy was really butthurt about it; pun maybe intended. I have zero memory of this, but there are multiple witnesses.

(Locke has told me that whenever he feels down in life, he just thinks back on this moment and smiles.)

– While trying to get our Uber, the five of us are standing on the sidewalk and being, well, pretty much the definition of drunk and disorderly. Our Uber drives up to the corner, takes one look at all of us, and immediately drives away. In hindsight, he probably made the right choice.

– Three of us are screaming about the Uber abandoning us, while Locke attempts to find us all a taxi. They refuse to take a taxi because they are determined to find the Uber that abandoned us.

– Meanwhile, I am ignoring the entire scene with the Uber. I might not have even been aware that it happened at all. I am busy talking every random stranger on the street passing by, and asking them “Are you Muslim?” in a very curious and excited tone of voice. Regardless of whether they answered yes or no, I just walked away.

– I am told I was taking selfies with several of these random strangers, although I looked at my phone the next day and there are definitely no photos of anything. Just the usual pictures of cats near where I live and porn from Reddit. So apparently I was pretending to take photos and didn’t, or I was too drunk to operate an iPhone’s camera app.

– We finally find a taxi, but I spend the entire taxi ride home trying to make friends with the taxi driver, who is very nervous about me. One of the girls in the taxi gets really angry at me for harassing the taxi driver, but I am in my own little world and don’t even notice her.

– We all get to her house to continue the night, and all of a sudden Locke turns around and I am gone. Just completely vanished.

– At some point, I texted Angela (girlfriend) and just said “Angela.” She asked if I was okay, and I sent her a video of a street/alley. She didn’t understand what I was trying to communicate, and after looking at the video later, neither do I.

She finds my drunken antics and nonsense funny, but she was also worried about me literally dying. An understandable perspective.

Full text transcript:

Me “Angela”

Angela “Yes?”

Me “I’m trying”

Angela “What’s up? Trying what?”

Me “where ami”

Me “where am I”

Angela “I’m not sure, check google maps?”

[I sent her a video of the street around me.]

Me “it’s a mistake”

(Not sure what I was trying to show her. She was just as confused as I am upon looking at the video. Also “it’s a mistake” is a strange way to say “oops.”)

Angela “Okay”

Me “the tyrant of choice”

(Obviously.)

Angela “Are you lost?”

Me “I’m not lost, no”

Angela “Okay good I’m glad”

Angela “Are you heading home?”

Me “I’m in an alley”

Me “so it is purely their choice”

Angela “Whose choice?”

Me “I love you so much”

Angela “I love you too”

Angela “So much :)”

Angela “Is everything okay babe?”

Me “mmhmm”

Angela “Okay 🙂 you drink a lot? I’m jealous, I’ve had a pretty quiet evening”

Me “I think it’s a drink love seeing drew”

Angela “Okay I’m missing the meaning of what you just said”

Aren’t we all.

Me “idk”

Angela “That’s okay :)”

Me “trying to”

Me “be the”

Me “the drink”

Me “the drink”

Angela “Be the drink? Very zen”

Me “THE DRINK”

Me “yes the drink”

Angela “What drink?”

Me “drink of the escargo and shit – blah time to die”

Angela “Don’t die pls”

Me “I don’t think you realize how much ability to stop traffic I have.”

Angela “Please don’t get hit by a car!!”

Angela “Adam please be careful”

Angela “I don’t want to find out you died in a car accident”

Me “just did”

Me “twice”

Angela “What”

Angela “You got hit by a car???”

Me “yeah”

Angela “Adam what the fuck”

Me “It is their fault”

Angela “Tell me when you’re home so I can stop worrying”

Me “I know, hold on ill send you my thing”

Angela “Ok”

Me “k umm”

Angela “What?”

Me “I am seeking you out for your seriousness”

Angela “What does that mean?”

Me “where are you”

Angela “I’m in England baby”

Later in the conversation, after I grew increasingly more incoherent, she called me to check if I was okay, or where I was, or really any information about me at all.

I had absolutely no idea where I was, or where the girl whose house we were at lives, nor had I ever even met this girl before that night. But I had been walking for some time, and I apparently thought I was pretty close to my house.

My reasoning was “I’ve been walking for at least 10-15 minutes so I have to be almost home at this point.” I don’t think I was kidding.

At some point, I told her to hold on, and then handed my phone to a taxi driver. Somehow, she guided the taxi driver to take me home — a surprising feat considering I live in a pretty obscure building.

I didn’t have any money. Neither of us were really sure for a couple of days how I paid the driver, but eventually when the attendant who works at the front desk of my building said that I needed to pay him back for borrowing money from him, I put two and two together.

Ended my adventure by sending one final text message to Locke to let him know I’m alive:

Me “I’m dead”

And then I passed out.

— — — — — — —

The story about the guy I made out with didn’t end there. Locke had begun mockingly calling him “my boyfriend” and I deserved that. A month or so after this incident, I received a message from said boyfriend:

myboyfriend2

Embarrassment isn’t even the right word. It’s more of a… begrudging acceptance of the inevitable consequences of my actions in life. At least Facebook gave me a clear choice at the bottom.

I didn’t want to include this in the story, but it’s just so objectively funny to everyone who’s ever seen it (a LOT of my friends have seen it), whether I like it or not. It’d be comedically dishonest to leave it out.