When I was in my early twenties, I worked as a corporate trainer for peanut shells on the floor style steak house. I traveled to various states, trained the new hires, worked the store for about a month to make sure they had their feet under them and then moved on. The training team worked hard but we partied way harder. Drugs and restaurants go hand in hand and there was a time when there was very little I’d say no to.
My most favorite drug of all was Ecstasy. It was exactly what is said. Good times, by the pill full. Dancing for hours on end, laughing, feeling beautiful, playing with hair and getting intense back rubs. Really, what’s not to like?
My trainer friend Tara and I would room together whenever possible and she was my rollin’ buddy. We could eat X and still maintain our shit well enough to party in the clubs with our team who did not partake and sometime even with people who would have fired us on the spot if they knew.
One supremely boring trip, I decided I would go out on a date with a guy I’d met in the club. But since I had a boyfriend at home, I didn’t tell anyone. Not even my roommate. I let this guy pick me up and we went to his place to party with some of his friends. I ate my Roll (that he provided) on the way there – because hey, why would I need to pay attention to where I’m being driven to after taking a pill I could only believe was ecstasy.
We get to his place and there is no party happening. In fact it was just the two of us. Oops. Of course I’m trying to keep my head, but I’m spun out while my shit kicks in. He did have an apartment made for partying alright; there was sound proofing foam on the walls – so no one can hear you scream, I mean hear your techno music. No signs of a roommate, no indications that others would be arriving.
I was totally alone, no one had any idea of where I was or who I was with, on drugs given to me by an almost stranger in an apartment where no one could hear a struggle if there was one. Genius, right?
But people, I live a charmed existence because as stupid as I was, and as much trouble as I was courting, I remained unharmed. We danced, we smoked, we talked. In all actuality, he was a nice enough guy who, at worst, was disappointed when it became clear he wasn’t getting any kind of laid. Eventually some other folks showed up, but I had peaked and was ready to call it a night.
From then on I was a little less trusting and I appreciated the fact that it turned out to be fine, but could have gone a completely different way.