When I realised my previous hook-up from the hostel was most likely getting it on with another worker here (don´t blame him, she is tidy), while I was waiting in the TV room trying to sleep, I gave up and walked out to make the trek home by myself at 5:30am. Boo. But surprise, surprise I was joined by the hostel girl who mysteriously appeared from the dark when I walked out, and came home too.
Walking home, I refrained from making any reference to how long she´d spent in the "toilet", choosing instead to not care and just enjoy the beautiful lightening firing up the sky in the early hours of the morning. C`est la vie, or whatever.
Now that it was Friday, I was pumped to go out again. Friday nights seem to be the biggies here, so after the initial afternoon wall-hitting, I was ready to roll. A few drinks here and we managed to get 4 taxis worth of guests and workers into the centre to go to Cuba Libre. Another random night to be had...
In the club, I did some more podium dancing but mostly danced on the floor, really feeling like picking up a girl but instead ending up with a feminine-looking Argentinian cutie that could really dance. TURN ON. After a while I was just wanting to leave to his house, as the amount of sweat I`d exuded was actually becoming ridiculous, but he kept babbling some reason why we couldn´t. Do you have a girlfriend? No. Do you live with your parents? No. Then what´s the fucking issue?? Damn my shitty Spanish.
I pulled J, the English guy who works here with me and who has been here for several months, over to ask him what was wrong, and I found out he didn´t have a girlfriend, he had TWO. I am out.
After that, the club lost a large amount of its already dwindling appeal and I convinced J to leave. The tourists had largely left and it was just horny locals I was sick of trying to run away from.
What happened next was definitely one of the most random things to happen in this crazy border town yet. A carful of cops said they would give me a ride home in their cop truck so I jumped in, careful not to sit in the middle as they asked, and found myself accepting a sip of their cocktail as they passed it around. So many things wrong with this picture I can´t even begin.
They stopped at the police station just down from my house, clearly wanting me to stick around, but I bailed quickly and walked home, palming them off when they drove after me and asked me back. Weirdos. It was around this point I realised I had to paid one cent the whole night since the club. No entry (cos I work here), no drinks (cos guys bought me some after I danced on the podium) and no taxi home. Boom.
The next morning I woke with the thought, "but why???" running through my head. Seriously. Why would I think the cop car is the safest to go home in?? If they did something to me, who would I have turned to? Fucking idiot. Don`t try this at home, kids.
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