As I am telling you a bit more about my life, I thought I might tell you about the very first time I actually got drunk. Now, I never was much of a 'typical' teenager. I didn't go out, I didn't drink on the sly, I didn't smoke on the sly. Mostly I stayed in my room playing solitaire when I should have been doing my homework. I had had the odd glass of rosé at Christmas, but that was about the extent of my alcohol intake.
My first real job in Yugoslavia changed that. I went out more, either with my few colleagues or with guests and I started drinking a bit more. I was still only 19 and still quite shy (compared to now anyway) and I still didn't drink a lot. And then that night...
I can't recall much of that night, but I do remember rum. Lots of it. So much of it that when the night ended, I was violently sick and threw up in the bushes behind the hotel where I lived. And I lost my purse with my money and bankcard!
|The official police report|
So, after only a few hours sleep I made my way to the police station in Pula, the nearest town. Where, with a crippling hangover, I had to tell the officer in charge what had happened. Fortunately not in Yugoslav or whatever language they spoke, but in English. And then again, but in German.
I had called my parents in the dead of night telling them I had lost my bankcard (they were not amused, not about the loss nor about me calling at that unseemly hour), so they contacted the bank at a better time to block it. However, I still had a few more months to go in Yugoslavia and I needed some money. So, the bank and the hotel reception and me made a deal. I could still use my cheques to withdraw money from my account. The hotel receptionist would just copy my details of the older cheques!
|The hangover had just passed!|
By the way: that summer? I didn't drink again.