The stupidest (drunkest) thing I hope to ever do in Korea (part 1)

So, last Saturday night I was excited, since I just signed the new contract the night before, and wanted to stay out as long as I could handle. Saturday was a field day with work, so the drinking commenced around 3 or 4 in the afternoon. It was quite a bender. I had drinks until about 4am with the lads, then the lads either went to bed or ditched me for random bar hookups. So, around 5 or so I called up some other friends. Then, I hopped on a taxi and met other friends at this gay bar - on "homo hill," adjacent to "hooker hill" - and had a couple more long islands there. Around, I dunno, 7 or so these friends were eventually pooped out, so we trucked toward home. They caught a cab, and I was on my way toward the subway (they start running again at 5am). On my way back, stumbling homeward by myself in the sketchiest part of town - the foreigner district, which is where the military men hang out; luckily they have a 1am curfew - I was approached by this attractive Korean chick who asked if I wanted to grab another drink or two. I figured, even at my drunkest, that it was a bit sketchy, but I’d already spent a good bit of dough for a belly full of booze, and wasn’t quite tired yet. So, I go inside. The details are a bit fuzzy after this, but next thing I know, we’re in this private karaoke kinda room, with some music playing and we were taking turns singing - though I couldn’t tell you what we sang. And, there’s a bottle of wine on ice with two glasses.

Anyway, next thing I remember, the barstaff asks me for my credit card. I was low on cash, and not really thinking with a clear head, so I handed that shit over - which I immediately regretted. Next thing I know, I find myself asking "um, so what exactly am I paying for?" "You are meaning what?" "Well, uh, so... there’s no polite way to say this...." Even at my drunkest, I’m not too comfortable with quasi-prostitution, or whatever the arrangement was. And sexual contact with people I can’t really understand or don’t really know isn’t really my thing, either. I’m not too much into Cartesian womanizing - the mind/body split - unless it’s with an axe. We all pay for sex indirectly - dinner, booze, etc - but to be in as direct a way is a little... gross. Anyway, my next memory is getting charged 265,000 won for the bottle of booze. Keep reading to see what that translates to. I was so drunk, I’m not really sure how it tasted. A little desserty, I think. Kinda sweet and too syrupy from what I remember. At any rate, I was so sketched out, but even at my drunkest I’m not as creepy as I sometimes fear I am (way to go, Mark), that I bolted before the bottle was even finished.

But, whateverthefuck. It’s the equivalent of a couple day’s hard work, sure. And, sure, I could’ve lived on that shit for a week whilst homeless. But, it’s as easy to shrug shit like that off as it will ever be in my life. Que sera sera and so on. And, you gotta pamper yourself every now and then, I guess, although hopefully not in AS frivolous a way next time: even if I could’ve gotten drunk, plus a rub and tug (new favorite phrase), for a quarter the price or so. I was at least smart enough to ask for a receipt, and I was pleased with myself when I found that relic in my pocket the next day. So, if they tried to dick me over and charge me even more than they did, I should be ok. The receipt is also a good addition for the scrapbook. I didn’t contest that shit, because I wasn’t really in a position - mentally, physically, linguistically - to negotiate. And you never know who knows Taekwondo, a Korean invention, here.

Come to find out, the establishment is something called a "flirt bar," where Korean - and especially American military - men pay for the companionship of ladyfolk. It’s kinda escort-esque, and apparently sexual favors are part of the game.

A couple days later, at four in the morning, my mom called me. She said that the credit card fraud department was looking for me. So, I called my bank in the middle of the night. They were concerned because I had "bar/nightclub" expenses that were "out of (my) typical spending habits." Apparently, $277 and change was put on my credit card, from some place called the, giggle, Cream Color Bar. Later on, my mom asked if I went to a strip club. I of course told her that if I were planning on going to a strip club then I would’ve at least been smart enough to take out some cash in advance. So, I just told her the truth, kinda.