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BobAlmighty · 03-25-2007, 09:28 PM

A tale of drunken debauchery in a foreign country!

A few years ago I was in Toyko, Japan. I was going to school in a outlying town called Kawasaki about 35 minutes train ride from Shinjuku. This particular story involves an evening of karaoke and drinking in the club district of Roppongi. After moving from place to place, my compatriots and I landed at a club called the Lexington Queen.

The Lexington Queen was apparently a very popular place for foreigners. The stairway and walls leading to the bar were covered in pictures of foreign movie stars and music artists. A list of big names going back some 15 or 20 years. This was my first adventure into a club and I probably looked like a wide-eyed and gawking gaijin (foreign devil). I'm from a city of 300k in Nebraska. We don't exactly have a lot of hopping clubs and walking down the hall of pictures toward the throbbing pop and techno was kind of exhilarating.

The club was tiny. There were two levels to this basement establishment. 15 foot bar and small lounge area, below that was a 30 or 40 square foot dance floor. At the very back was the VIP lounge, which was separated from the dance floor only by an impossibly long couch, and large men with no necks.

My friends and I were ready for some serious drinking and dancing by this point, most of the other clubs had been rather lame but this place was PACKED. Standing room only, 15 minute wait at the bar, and a oppressive stale humidity that can only come from hours of close packed bodies dancing and breathing to hard pounding club music. After my first 15 minute wait at the bar I quickly learned to buy 2 or 3 drinks at once, and to heavily tip my (foreign) bartender.

At this stage in my alcoholism I was adverse to drinking liquor straight. Not to mention bar drinks and the alcohol selection (even in a foreigner oriented club) was not what you'd find in an American bar. I was content with drinking rum and cokes or tequila sunrises. After a few hours, I was quite well done. I had overcome the embarrassment of getting on the dance floor, and the more carnal part of me was chasing the various hotties on the dance floor. Perhaps I'd find a chick to rent a "love hotel" for the remainder of the evening before I had to take the train back to mukogaukayuen.

It was during one my by bathroom breaks that I glanced over at the VIP section. There were several eastern European girls, wearing next to nothing, with various men lounging on couches. Naive as I was, I shouted to my friend standing next to me asking why they were bending over the table. He shouted back "What do you think that white powder is?" It was like something out of that Vin Diesel movie, triple x.

Anyway, the night progressed as did my drunkeness. Unfortunately, (but not unexpectedly) I found no chicks with which to rent an outrageously priced tiny room for a few hours. Thus, my comrades and I left for the night staggering and stammering.

It was on the trip home, as we headed into the train station that the most peculiar event happened. My friends and I were heading down a flight of stairs to the subway line when I spotted a guy wearing a bright read shirt with white letters that said "Huskers" on it. Being from Nebraska and in fact going to the University at which the Huskers are the football team, I shouted at the fellow in a drunken slur "Hey man! Nice t-shirt!" Something that was obviously mis-understood.

The guy turns around and I get a good look at him. He looks like a 6 foot tall, 200 pound Samoan fella. Darkly complexioned and powerfully built. "What'd you say!" He shouted at me. Nice shirt man! I shout back. Maybe it was the acoustics of the stairwell, or maybe it was my drunken state...probably both, but I swore the guy was getting angry. The guy turns around and starts moving toward me. At that point, my friends stepped in. One of them grabbed me and hustled me toward the approaching train. One of the girls stepped in to mediate, soothingly saying I wasn't saying anything. Saying that I was drunk and didn't know what I had said. We all quickly got on the train and headed out of there.

My friend still had a hold of me and I threw him off. I didn't know what was really going on at that point. I kept trying to say to him that I had only tried to complement a dude wearing a husker shirt! "Dude, that Samoan was going to kill you!" he told me. I was totally confused, but finally it started to dawn on me that the guy thought I was trying to start some shit. We rode in silence for the 45 minutes back toward our dorms. Finally right as we got off the train I said to my friend "You know...I could have taken him."

03-25-2007, 09:28 PM	#27 (permalink)
BobAlmighty Upright	A tale of drunken debauchery in a foreign country! A few years ago I was in Toyko, Japan. I was going to school in a outlying town called Kawasaki about 35 minutes train ride from Shinjuku. This particular story involves an evening of karaoke and drinking in the club district of Roppongi. After moving from place to place, my compatriots and I landed at a club called the Lexington Queen. The Lexington Queen was apparently a very popular place for foreigners. The stairway and walls leading to the bar were covered in pictures of foreign movie stars and music artists. A list of big names going back some 15 or 20 years. This was my first adventure into a club and I probably looked like a wide-eyed and gawking gaijin (foreign devil). I'm from a city of 300k in Nebraska. We don't exactly have a lot of hopping clubs and walking down the hall of pictures toward the throbbing pop and techno was kind of exhilarating. The club was tiny. There were two levels to this basement establishment. 15 foot bar and small lounge area, below that was a 30 or 40 square foot dance floor. At the very back was the VIP lounge, which was separated from the dance floor only by an impossibly long couch, and large men with no necks. My friends and I were ready for some serious drinking and dancing by this point, most of the other clubs had been rather lame but this place was PACKED. Standing room only, 15 minute wait at the bar, and a oppressive stale humidity that can only come from hours of close packed bodies dancing and breathing to hard pounding club music. After my first 15 minute wait at the bar I quickly learned to buy 2 or 3 drinks at once, and to heavily tip my (foreign) bartender. At this stage in my alcoholism I was adverse to drinking liquor straight. Not to mention bar drinks and the alcohol selection (even in a foreigner oriented club) was not what you'd find in an American bar. I was content with drinking rum and cokes or tequila sunrises. After a few hours, I was quite well done. I had overcome the embarrassment of getting on the dance floor, and the more carnal part of me was chasing the various hotties on the dance floor. Perhaps I'd find a chick to rent a "love hotel" for the remainder of the evening before I had to take the train back to mukogaukayuen. It was during one my by bathroom breaks that I glanced over at the VIP section. There were several eastern European girls, wearing next to nothing, with various men lounging on couches. Naive as I was, I shouted to my friend standing next to me asking why they were bending over the table. He shouted back "What do you think that white powder is?" It was like something out of that Vin Diesel movie, triple x. Anyway, the night progressed as did my drunkeness. Unfortunately, (but not unexpectedly) I found no chicks with which to rent an outrageously priced tiny room for a few hours. Thus, my comrades and I left for the night staggering and stammering. It was on the trip home, as we headed into the train station that the most peculiar event happened. My friends and I were heading down a flight of stairs to the subway line when I spotted a guy wearing a bright read shirt with white letters that said "Huskers" on it. Being from Nebraska and in fact going to the University at which the Huskers are the football team, I shouted at the fellow in a drunken slur "Hey man! Nice t-shirt!" Something that was obviously mis-understood. The guy turns around and I get a good look at him. He looks like a 6 foot tall, 200 pound Samoan fella. Darkly complexioned and powerfully built. "What'd you say!" He shouted at me. Nice shirt man! I shout back. Maybe it was the acoustics of the stairwell, or maybe it was my drunken state...probably both, but I swore the guy was getting angry. The guy turns around and starts moving toward me. At that point, my friends stepped in. One of them grabbed me and hustled me toward the approaching train. One of the girls stepped in to mediate, soothingly saying I wasn't saying anything. Saying that I was drunk and didn't know what I had said. We all quickly got on the train and headed out of there. My friend still had a hold of me and I threw him off. I didn't know what was really going on at that point. I kept trying to say to him that I had only tried to complement a dude wearing a husker shirt! "Dude, that Samoan was going to kill you!" he told me. I was totally confused, but finally it started to dawn on me that the guy thought I was trying to start some shit. We rode in silence for the 45 minutes back toward our dorms. Finally right as we got off the train I said to my friend "You know...I could have taken him."