Saturday.

I am ridiculously hungover after my little adventure out in Central yesterday afternoon. I don’t even know how in the fuck this happened, but it happened.

Where to start?

As previously mentioned, last Sunday I got sucked into a random bar by the Escalator by a group MAusGAs. While I was there, I met a man from Mexico who worked in finance. I gave him my number. Yesterday, he messaged me around 2pm and asked if I wanted to meet him at a different place for Happy Hour.

I decided to go meet him, because why not go meet a rich guy for drinks, right? After all, how bad could it really be? Surely not all finance bros live their lives like Wolf of Wall Street, right?

Wrong.

This is how I ended up in the situation I ended up in.

At first, the date seemed promising. He talked about working in London and going skydiving when he turned 40. He showed me a few art pieces he was thinking about buying for his $100,000 HKD per month apartment and showed me pictures of the terrace. I talked about living in a tiny little studio and being a penniless writer. He said he would introduce me to some people who could help me find a job. You know, just normal Hong Kong things.

As we were talking, I noticed a lot of people passing by and saying hello to him. All of them were giving me strange looks. I thought it was because I was new. I was wrong.

Later on, his friends started showing up and coming over to the table to say hello. He left me to chat with his friends while he went to take a business call. Three of them were Irish. One of them was giving big time Slytherin vibes.

Have you ever looked at someone and instantly knew they were in Slytherin House? That was this Irish guy. He kept looking at me the same way Uncle Jason would look at me in Bangkok. Like he was thinking to himself, “This woman is here to make trouble for us and I don’t like it.”

Things started getting pretty crazy after the Finance Bro got back. While I was having a side conversation with one of his friends, a particularly shady-looking individual cozied up to the Finance Bro and slipped him something discreetly.

Suddenly, The Finance Bro grabbed me by the hand and pulled me away from the table and towards the bathroom. He motioned for me to follow him into the men’s bathroom. Just like that, right there, in broad daylight, in the middle of the whole restaurant, and in front of my special Parisian scarf.

There was an older Indian woman waiting in line outside the women’s room. We both gave each other a look like, “Is he gonna whip his dick out?” She gave me a nod like she would be waiting for me outside.

Of course I had to know what he was going to show me in the bathroom. Of course I did. Luckily, it was not his dick. It was a vial of cocaine that he opened and started making lines out of right on the toilet of this public men’s bathroom! EWWWW! Gross!

I was like, “Bro, you’re rich. You don’t have to do this. A toilet? Really? That’s sick. Grow up and invest in a compact mirror. I don’t even do cocaine and even I know it’s the must-have accessory of the season.”

I refused the line and walked out of the bathroom. The Indian woman looked at me expectantly.

“I didn’t see anything,” I said calmly.

She nodded at me understandingly, as if this was something she was used to seeing every day. She let me go ahead of her to the bathroom so I could have a chance to calm down. When I came out, he was standing outside the door waiting for me. He grabbed me and tried to kiss me. Right there in broad daylight, in front of the whole restaurant, and in front of my special Parisian scarf!

I pushed him off of me and said, “What the fuck, dude? What kind of woman do you think I am?”

I walked back over to the table to finish my drink. He came back over and said, “Sorry I can’t take you to dinner. My girlfriend is at home waiting for me.”

Wow. Just fucking Wow.

“Does your girlfriend know you kiss her with the same mouth that was just an inch away from a public toilet seat?”

Fucking gross.

He left me there alone, surrounded by his friends, most of whom either ignored me completely or wanted to explain to me why they think Trump should be the King of Australia and Canada, which is honestly just fucking insane.

Many drinks later, I finally extracted myself from this ridiculous situation and walked home alone. I stopped by McDonald’s to get something to eat. I stood there staring at the ground while I waited for my food. I felt empty and sad as the realization set in that I had basically just been assaulted, again, and it did not feel very good.

I missed Bangkok in that moment. Yeah, I acted slutty, but at least everyone involved was consenting and having a good time. And yeah, those expat guys were all pretty ridiculous, but at least none of them ever invited me to do a line of cocaine off of a public toilet seat. That’s just nasty!

I woke up today with a massive hangover and the same feeling of emptiness inside. I thought to myself that maybe it’s a sign I should go to Ireland after all…

Now I am just sitting here processing what happened. I know, I know, I’m sure that I come off as really naive right now, but I am just not a person who is heavily involved in drug culture like that. I never have been. In my mind, this only happens in movies. Surely no one is actually trashy enough to do lines of coke off of a public toilet seat. Oh, right, I guess they are.

Okay, so, that happened. Time for me to reward myself for dealing with that ridiculous situation with a rice bowl. Hell yes.

Onward and forward…