Sooner or later, it was bound to happen. By “it” I mean that despite my well-intentioned and overall successful effort to acculturate to life in Kurdistan, I am still an American and need to let loose every once in a while. Last night was the culmination of what has been building up for some time. What was supposed to be a night out chatting over a drink and food turned into, in my mind at least, a golden opportunity to get fall down drunk.
Mohammed, one of the professors in our English course for faculty members, was nice enough to invite us out. At first I just wanted to go home and relax, or even play poker with my political science students, but he was quite persistent so I acquiesced. After a fairly regular week, with typical stresses and enjoyments, I was looking forward to starting my weekend with a solid session in the gym followed by a pleasant dinner.
In the evening the upstairs classroom of the Cultural Center transforms into a restaurant. The overall ambiance is very relaxed with dim lights and shades of red everywhere. Tables are plenty spread out so even if the place is full, which it never is, you still maintain a level of privacy. The night started out with just Paige, myself, and Mohammed. He is a jovial man, probably mid 40s, and his English skills are around the high-intermediate level. His invitation to dinner was not surprising since it has become common to receive them from students, but it was also an opportunity for him to brush up on his conversation skills.
Upon taking our seats I had already decided my drink of choice for the evening: whiskey. I didn’t want to ruin my gym session by consuming excessive calories from beer and, to be frank, I wanted to get inebriated as quickly as possible. I asked the waiter for my beverage and was absolutely delighted when he returned with Johnnie Walker: Black Label. Not only was my food going to be delicious, but I could wash it down in style. Like a boss. To make it even better, they don’t mix drinks for you at many places here; they bring you a small bottle (20 cl) of booze and some soda. For any of my friends from home who have experienced a “Ryan mixed drink” they know that it is 60%+ alcohol with a dash of soda.
After chatting with Mohammed for about 30 minutes he told us that two of his friends would soon be joining us. When they arrived I was surprised to see that one of the men, Sherzad, was someone I had spoken to in the gym before. Sherzad is an older gentleman, probably over 55, who is originally from southern Iraq but fled to the UK when Saddam came to power. He has traveled extensively, also teaches at the university, and speaks perfect English (in addition to Arabic, Kurdish, Turkish, and French). The other gentleman, Jalal, is also from the southern part Iraq but, similar to Sherzad, fled the country many years ago; his destination of choice was Denmark. Jalal and Sherzad were both highly personable, engaging in conversation, and intelligent individuals.
By the time that they arrived I had already downed my first bottle of JW and was working on a second. Any sense of being tired or stressed was washed away and replaced with a cheery gregariousness. Conversation and drinks flowed and time was essentially nonexistent. I felt bad that Mohammed’s ability to communicate was severely limited as we spoke quickly; but it was also nice to speak in a normal tongue and not a slower, modified version. When you are constantly surrounded by people who have little capacity for understanding what you say, it is quite refreshing just to talk normally. Ease of communication is certainly something we take for granted.
Within a few hours, and after two more 20 cl bottles of JW (roughly a water bottle and a half full of just whiskey), it is safe to say that I was hammered. Despite this, I was still able to maintain the ability to have an intelligent conversation; this is mostly because I was in my element talking about world affairs, politics, and challenges facing Iraq. However, if we stayed much longer I probably would have slipped into the zone of yapping about unintelligible nonsense, aka jibba jabba. Honestly, we left at the perfect time because this is when the rest of the night becomes a blur.
Two of our students came and picked us up at the Cultural Center. In hindsight, this was probably a bad idea, but it happened nevertheless. I have no recollection of what happened after. After piecing the story together we evidently drove around for a little while, stopped to buy a CD so we could listen to American music in the car, and then went home. I don’t know what time I got home or went to bed, but similar to the pop-classic “The Hangover,” I was only left with some scattered clues.
As I opened my eyes and realized I was in my bed, shirt off as always, I had a brief feeling of confidence that everything was normal. It all went south from there. I felt a slightly uncomfortable bulk near me and then I realized that I had in all likelihood spent part of the night sleeping on top of my laptop. Luckily, my internet USB did not break. After removing the blanket I then found that I was sleeping in my dress pants, belt and all. I had taken the liberty of removing my shirt, but the pants were clearly way too much work. I then look to my right and find pages of my daily planner torn and scattered on the floor (which is now quite inconvenient); my notebook is ruined and in the garbage (also inconvenient); and there are remnants of vomit on the floor and on the side of my bed (just plain gross). Ouch.
After seeing the disaster that my room had become I promptly began cleaning up. My phone was dead but still working, and since I woke up at 8:30am I imagine that I was in bed before midnight. After all, we started drinking at 7pm. I feel pretty good today, and there have already been numerous occasions where I just think about last night and laugh. I think that was exactly the type of release that I needed. I am no longer the type of person who parties every weekend, but I do value occasionally being able to just say, “Fuck it. I’m getting drunk and we’ll see where the night takes me.” Sometimes good, sometimes not, but always a story to tell J
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