Oh, Roppongi part 2

Friday, October 29th, 2010 in: News

I opened my eyes again around 2 pm, and the first thing I saw was a purse, staring me in the face. “You’re not mine,” I said to it, and rolled over, pulling the blanket over my head in a feeble attempt to block out the afternoon sun. Then I opened my eyes and the events from earlier that morning came flooding back.

Shit.

I looked in the purse and found a wallet with ID and credit cards, house keys and two phones. I had essentially kidnapped this person, as they now had no means of getting home, getting inside or getting in touch with anyone she knew. She may still be stuck at the F-Bar; F is for “false imprisonment.”

Shit.

I could only imagine how she must have felt at realizing her bag was missing. She was worse off than I, last I remember. So where could she have gone and left her purse with me? Did she go to the bathroom? My head was still pounding from my well-earned hangover, but that didn’t stop me from feeling for this poor girl; She must be furious at having lost so much in one night. I called Sim to see if he had heard from her or knew the best way for me to return her purse.
“No I haven’t heard anything. Wait, you left without knowing where she was, and took her bag?”

Shit.

I am the biggest asshole in the world. I waited but not long enough obviously. No explanation could exonerate me for my moronic behavior.
“It’s ok man, she’s a big girl, she’ll be alright. Actually, I’m headed to Zushi again right now, just drop the bag off at our building, I’ll email you the address.”

Phew.

I couldn’t get rid of that bag fast enough, but expediency wouldn’t do anyone any good, as Sim would have to first come home to retrieve it from reception. I also had this head-splitting hangover to contend with, reminding me that I shouldn’t drink like a preteen anymore. I fell asleep again waiting for his email, tossing restlessly on the floor. I imagined just about every possible scenario that could have led me to having her purse outside the club, and then followed it with every possible outcome of her being stranded without her bag. If she went to the bathroom right before I came to, how messed up is it to come out of the bathroom and find the person you were talking with gone, along with your purse. The best case scenario I came up with was there were still other coworkers there able to help her out. The worst was a toss up between her being as drunk as myself and completely stranded at the bar, or forced to pay for a ride home with unmentionable favors, or getting kidnapped or something and left in a ditch. All because I walked off with her purse.

Shit.

I had plans to meet up with my friend Yukako; we decided to grab dinner in Roppongi so I could kill two birds with one stone. For the second time in 24 hours, I found myself headed to Roppongi, the last place on earth I wanted to be, next to the Kalahari desert in July. I was purposefully vague on the phone because I was getting tired of rehashing my stupidity to others, but there was no avoiding her questions in person. My hangover was finally beginning to lift, but there was no masking the trauma I had received from the previous night. As we walked to Sim’s building I recited the events as they had unfolded, to Yukako’s delight. I realized that in hindsight, it was a pretty funny story to tell, but I don’t think I’ll be able to laugh at it myself for a while. I thought we were going to Sim’s office building, but it turns out it was his apartment complex, a high-class highrise on the 24th floor. Reception took the bag under Sim’s name, and an enormous weight lifted off my chest, though I was still left me sucking wind. Ahhhh I felt so terrible about the whole ordeal, what a fool I made of myself. I might’ve been the only one who cared, especially since no one had heard from Yoshiko yet. Sim was carefree at the beach, and Yukako was cracking up. Even reception found the whole situation. OK, Yoshiko probably cared too, wherever she was.

Shiiiiiit. Let’s go eat.

Epilogue: It was a week later that I heard through Shihong that Sim had given Yoshiko her purse back at work that Monday, and he never saw anyone more excited about getting their purse back. Apparently she got cab fare from the police box nearby (good to know that they will lend out money for a cab if you need it), and gotten home somehow. I guess she had forgiven me, though I’m not going to test that theory. The whole thing is still too embarrassing; the emotional scars have made this one mother of a hangover. As nice as those people were, I’m not sure I’ll be ready to show my face there again anytime soon. And certainly not at F-Bar. F is for “Fuck that place.”

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