The Macau Story - Pt 4

I’ve been to tons of parties and I drinking regular, but I’ve never stretched intemperance like we did on our last night, because I believe what we spent in that last night, is like the annual wage equivalent of a village.

We actually left Macau for short stint up in Zhu Hai, which is at the border in China coming in from Macau. It’s a short drive from the city and once you pass customs, you immediately see a pronounced disparity between the two places.

Gone are the neon lights that light up the skies in Macau and you are greeted by low rise buildings that look like it’s a conservation site for 19th century architecture. People are also driving on the wrong side of the road here.

However, what we’ve been palavered with, are tales of decadence and promises of absurd dip in cost indexes compared to Macau. That effectively meant that we needed only a fraction of the cost for twice the fun.

It didn’t matter that our dinner looked like it was catered for 20 people when there were only nine of us. Half the time I had no idea what I had stuffed in my mouth, and going by the gourmet principles of Asians – Chinese specifically -, we eat anything that moves and we waste no part of it.

I won’t be surprised if I’ve had Golden Retrievers, Chihuahuas of maybe a Komodo dragon, because I’ve learnt that with chilli, everything tastes the same. I’ve given up trying to second guess what I’m chewing because someone would say pig’s ears and another would say it’s liver and for all I know, I could have been having rabbit's penis.

At 8pm, they took us to one of the most famous KTV’s. We had a round of beers and 3 bottles of X.O which came with about a $360 per bottle tag and mind you, this is already relatively cheap if you looked at it in context to where we were.

We barely stayed past 11pm and we left for 88, which is a club on a popular kaleidoscopic street of pubs and clubs. The place was packed when we got there and there was already a private room for us and I prepped myself to lose a liver that night.

It’s different when you have a table lined with bottles and it becomes a countdown as to how many bottles will be left by the end of the night. This time round, it was watching them stack the empty bottles we consumed at the front of the room, because it seemed like an endless cornucopian liquid buffet.

Between the 9 of us and the girls, there were about 18 of us partying and contributing to the ceaseless refills the waiters had to keep up with. By the time it was 2am, I no longer gave a shit about dancing even though they played relatively decent dance tracks and my priority shifted to the line of shots at the table.

I was oblivious to a lot of drama that was playing out before me; one girl was crying, one couple was drunk, some were making out at the sofa and many of us were grateful for the attached toilet in the room. If I was less drunk and a lot hornier, I would have taken up the offer to fuck in there.

I was going to take my fill on the night, so the moment my lips kissed the X.O, I allowed alcohol to take precedence over sex. I knew at some point that when she was going to be straddling me, I was going to hate my decision to get drunk, but I also knew that I was going to have to make my money’s worth, even if it meant losing a liver – deep down, I always secretly pray for a Pierre Png.

We were knocking back cognac shots as if it were apple shooters that connoisseurs would have eyed us with contempt on our blatant disregard for appreciation. By the 5th bottle, we were cheering wildly and singing along to the music and some of them started egging me to get up onto the bar top.

By 4am, they had to literally coax me to leave the place because everyone else had a greater agenda for the night because between having a face full of breast and babysitting my ass over another line of cognac shots, I was fast beginning to lose my appeal.

So we left, me with a trophy in tow, a seductive black dress that accentuated her curves and eyeliners that if extended any further up her eyes, would have qualified as a fringe. When we got back to my room, there was a huge surprise waiting for us.

LB got to the door, naked and wildly yelling about his disdain for alcohol and it’s consequence on sexual climaxes. I was half tickled at the sight but too tired to even nudge him for some decency. I wasn’t even going to be adventurous about it because from the time I got into bed and the time she tried to have a conversation, I fell right into deep sleep.

When we met up the morning after, I was tickled by tales of how the other guys ended their night. Some of them were drunk, did not remember how they got back and some spent time reacquainting with the toilet bowl.

It was funny until one of them told us that we had consumed 9 bottles of X.O, 2 bottles of Black Label and 70 bottles of beer at 88 alone. Raise your hands if you said, ‘What the Fuck!’, because that was exactly the same reaction I had, but with a lot more shock.

How did the 9 of us possibly have gone through that much alcohol in that short a time? Sure, I wanted a carousal affair, best so if came with a little more of a corporeal skin fest, but 11 bottles and 70 beers? I cannot even begin to use the word excessive because if you had left us at the place, we might actually clear out their stock

I quickly did a mental calculation and I came to a consensus that I was going to pawn my kidney the moment we got back to Macau. How did we ever chalk up such a reckless tab? Who the hell said it was going to be a fraction of the cost? Why did I ever wish for an endless flow of alcohol? Is this all a dream?

Wait, did I forget to have sex in the morning?