Friday's Fight Night

I don't think people wake up on Friday's and think to themselves, "Hmm, today seems like a good day to get into a fight. Maybe I'll get lucky and have my ears sliced off."

Last Friday, was the first time since nearly a year that I actually got out with Reznor for a night that included copious amounts of alcohol and music good enough to make me want to stand up and burn calories.

Everything was how any normal night would have been, except that a year on, I've learnt to curb my enthusiasm for binge drinking and marginalize my quixotic verbal rampages and taunts. I've also learnt that it is inappropriate to kiss strangers.

I can't say I knew that something eventful was waiting to ambush us, but a mise en scene that was moving panoramically from Butter Factory to a gigolo bar and then to Living Room, was telling that perhaps the night wasn't going to be so usual after all.

When we alighted from the cab at Marriott's at about 4.30am, we saw this chubby Malay guy sprinting past us like he had the last golden ticket to Charlie's Chocolate Factory, either that or there was a buffet line down the road.

Then we got to the queue and the guys were all smoking outside. Something big had obviously just gone down because people were still talking about it like it was the freshest paedophile scandal.

Me: "What the fuck happened?"
HY: "Dude, there was this big fight. Like 15 Chinese and 15 Malays. They were just fighting outside here a minute ago!"

D2: "There were like 10 of them only..."
HY: "It's damn traumatizing! I can't take this..I need to go home."

HY was clearly inebriated because I didn't know if he was excited about the whole incident or that it was just the vodka and Red Bull kicking in.

HY: "Dude, they had like parangs that were THIS long."

He gesticulated, sizing the blades to a point that it looked more like samurai swords.

D2: "Those were poles la."
HY: "They were parangs!! I'm fucking traumatized."

Then one of the guys walked by us. I didn't see him, but apparently, he was covered in blood. His ear was dangling. He had a slash on the back of his neck amongst numerous other deep cut on this back. He was so beat up, he would have made the beating Rocky took look like rashes.

HY: "I'm fucking traumatized. I'm going home. I'm too fucking traumatized by this. I've never seen anything like this before."

RotiPrata: "Relax la, let's go in and drink."
HY: "Dude! The guy's ear was fucking dangling off his face!"

So we went in and our table was down to the last half bottle, which I didn't really care because I had quite a bit of cognac churning within me that introducing vodka didn't sound too prudent a choice.

Then came the spark. There was this Caucasian guy who came with my friend, who was there before we came and he was being a total dick. Apparently, he had some issues with Reznor pouring from the bottle and it finally blew out of proportions.

Well, when it comes to Reznor, it doesn't take much really.

So he snatched the bottle from Reznor and Reznor flew into a rage, just short of climbing over the tables with his shoe at hand. Then I snatched it back from him and he stared right at me.

He: "Did your friend pay for the bottle?"
Me: "This is my bottle."
He: "Did you pay for the bottle?"
Me: "Yes, it says so on the bottle."
He: "Whatever.."

Reznor was all worked up by then and RotiPrata was all ready to jump into the fray. All that was keeping them from jumping the drunk guy, was a thin defensive line of women.

Then he pulled me over.

He: "Where is my bottle?"
Me: "How would I know. When I got here, there was only one bottle. And it's mine."
He: "So what does your friend what now?"
Me: "Just go home."

I was pissed because the set was just breaking into Trance and Tiesto was teasing in the background. And instead of burning calories doing productive work like dancing, we were using it to break up a fight - that was probably never going to top the one that just happened half an hour ago.

So we left. The mood lost somewhere after the first "Fuck You" was verbalized and the fatigue from my sporadic attempts to dance settling in.

Then the guy tried to apologize, which Reznor for some reason saw it as an act of aggression and we had to hold him off like he was a pitbull charging for a rabbit. Immediately, my instincts kicked in.

I love my life too much to be ambushed by a gang of knife wielding lunatics. Maybe he was buying time. Maybe he's got a gun. Am I fucking paranoid? Is this the cognac talking? Is it legal to carry a hand grenade? What if his posse is just round the corner. Is there a cab nearby I can dive into?

Me: "Let's go. I don't want to sit around and get stabbed."