Wednesday in Hong Kong. Looks like it might rain soon. Luckily I managed to rescue my umbrella from the bar now known as “The Sketchy Place.”
This story is not-so-fun. Get ready. It might be triggering if you’ve ever been drugged at a bar before.
A few weeks back, I mentioned a story where I was walking home from the fancy grocery store up in the Mid-Levels and was roped into this random bar by the MAusGA. As you may recall, I blacked out there and can’t remember how I got home. I really thought it was just me not handling my wine, but the other night brought this theory into question.
Here’s the timeline:
- Met the MAusGa’s at The Sketchy Place, which is allegedly a small neighborhood bar frequented by the wealthy business class of the Mid-Levels.
- Finance Bro I met that night invited me for Happy Hour at a different bar, which I will call “The Wolf” after The Wolf of Wall Street. As you may recall, this “date” ended with him offering me a line of coke off of a dirty bar toilet and groping me behind the bar in front of the entire staff.
- Made a new friend that night, who is Irish and here on a long-stay work exchange with his company in Dublin. I met up with him a second time at The Sketchy Place. Nothing shady or questionable occurred.
- Fast-forward to Monday night, when I was back up in the Mid-Levels at this same bougie grocery store that I’m starting to suspect might actually suck.
- I walked down the same route, and one of the MAusGA’s from the first night was sitting outside The Sketchy Place. Pretty sure it was the same guy who roped me in the first time. It was definitely the same guy who I mentioned I saw mean-mugging me from a distance when I walked by The Wolf. He invited me in, but I only agreed because I saw my Irish friend there. I invited my other friend to meet me there as well. You know, for “networking,” as they say.
- Everything was normal until my other friend arrived. This is when I blacked out, again. I literally have no memory of anything that transpired after this. No memory. I don’t remember leaving, I don’t remember walking home, nothing. I definitely don’t remember how I fucked up my knees and elbows, or why my shoulder is suddenly in so much pain.
- I woke up the next day to messages from both of my friends in a panic. They told me I disappeared and neither of them could find me. Then my lady friend told me the same MAusGA guy was creeping on her hardcore and trying to get her to go home with him. She couldn’t find me, so she left and got home safe. Both of my friends were seriously, legitimately concerned for my safety.
- Are the alarm bells going off in your head yet?
Right. Yeah. If they’re not, they should be.
I told my bartender friend about this incident last night and she also freaked out. She was like, “Wait a minute. That’s not right. I’ve seen you drunk before. You’ve never blacked out here, have you?”
“No, just at the Sketchy Place.”
“And it happened to you twice in the span of a couple of weeks?”
“Right.”
“And you’ve already said that you’ve had problematic interactions involving drugs with the regulars there before?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, yeah, don’t go there again. I know that place you’re talking about. The vibe is very off there. I don’t like the bartenders. They seem sketchy. Just don’t go back there.”
I sat and thought about it for a moment before I remembered the day I was up on the rooftop and watched an obvious dealer lurk around outside. He was shaking hands with a lot of business types on their way home from work, if you know what I’m saying.
So yeah, not really too far out of the ordinary to think there might be something shady going on up there. So much for “networking” and “rubbing shoulders with the elite.”
As I’ve stated before, if this is the kind of crap people are doing to get ahead and stay ahead in that world, I want absolutely no part of it whatsoever.
What am I going to do about what I’ve seen and now suspect I know? Oh, well, you know, after repeatedly reporting incidents like this while living in South Dakota and being treated like literal human garbage as a result, my plan is simply to write about it.
Obviously, this is the shittiest solution ever. But, really, what can I do? There are CCTV cameras everywhere. If the Chinese know this stuff is going on and turn a blind eye to it, what hope do I have?
Still, if it’s happening to me, it must be happening to other people as well. There’s never just one of us. Predators usually have an established pattern. I must be someone’s type, or whatever they think their type is: young, vulnerable, alone in the big city for the first time, lonely, isolated from family, few friends, no job, no safety net, no purpose or direction.
Ahhh, but what you don’t know about me is that I wield the most powerful weapon of all: the pen.
Anyway, yeah, so needless to say that between this incident and The Russian, I have decided to slow down on the so-called “networking.” It’s not working for me. I have made some actual friends, which is good! However, all of this is just too much for me. This “corporate finance tech bro culture” is so toxic and sickening. It’s just not… the vibe for me. Like at all.
Meanwhile, we never heard anything from The Russian ever again. He has officially disappeared off the face of Planet Earth. Grand! This means I can now write whatever the fuck I want to write and I don’t have to worry about him checking up on me or getting in my business or trying to derail the one thing that keeps me sane in this world. He’s gone full ghost mode and he still has more class than the jerks from Bloody Mary’s Bar back in South Dakota. Love that for him!
My friend told me last night that I shouldn’t have texted him the paragraphs. I disagree. The paragraphs were not about my feelings. The paragraphs were summarizing what I’ve already said here and other jokes I planned to make. I sent that to cover my own ass and show that I did inform him. Just in case of any legal entanglements that may potentially arise…
My friend specifically said, “Don’t message him anymore. You’re giving away all your power. He has all the power now.”
I mean… does he really, though? He’s the punchline of my latest joke. Whatever power he thinks he has over me is purely in his mind. Frankly, if all he wants is power, then he can be all alone with his power. I don’t give a fuck. I’ll take my jokes about scorpion mating rituals and bad James Bond films and continue living my life the way I please.
I don’t think he ever really had the power. I just kinda let him pretend he did because it was fun. Deep down I think we all know I analyzed this situation with a clear, sober mind and thought, “Fuck yeah I want to stay in the Mandarin Oriental for a night on someone else’s dime. Show me the bathtub!”
This is why I say… next time, I’m using the bathtub. I don’t give a fuck what he says. I’m doing it anyway. Just like I’m doing with my writing right now. What is he going to do? Cancel me? Ha!
So… what’s on the menu for today? Oh nothing, just going through all of my finances and crying because I can’t make Ireland work right now. I can’t make anything work right now. But hey, at least I have some great stories to tell from my time in SEA! That’s all that really matters, right? Right!
Off now!
And always remember: safety first!
That means…
If I don’t update this blog or my social media for 48 hours straight, call in Liam Neeson.
I am literally not even joking right now.