Going Through the Motions

I had a lunchtime encounter with a stranger which I found funny, and would like to share, but it’s a bit yucky…

Today I had a quiet lunch on my own, reading a book in a pub in Soho. A sullen looking bloke in his mid thirties approached me and sat down. He thought I wanted to score some coke. It’s possible I gave him an inadvertent signal, but the only unusual thing I’ve done in this seedy boozer is turned a few pages.

Taking my refusal with good grace, he struck up a conversation. ‘You’re more of a stoner, right?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t call myself a stoner but I do like an occasional smoke, yeah. Are you a police officer?’

He smirked, before taking my hand and dragging me down a well-trodden path of druggy war stories – endless variations of, ‘One time, after I’d done a gram of coke and drank a bottle of JD…’ which I’m sure you’ve heard countless times yourself.

Drugs was his only topic of conversation, so I tried to direct his verbal flow towards the more positive and cerebral area of psychedelics. If you have to listen to people go on about how fucked up they got, it’s better to tease out the more original ones.

My new friend had taken a large dose of acid. A ‘Jimi Hendrix’ quantity was his estimate, but not having taken acid, I can’t be certain of the parameters involved. It was a lot, that’s all I know.

He said,
“I tell ya mate, if you ever do acid, make sure you don’t need to go for a shit.’
‘Why? I mean, is it physically difficult or does it just freak you out?”.
‘Yeah. Freaks you, man. I was doing this shit, like, a massive shit, I had to push it out like i was giving birth to it, you know what I mean? Well, anyway, I hear it splash into the water like a fucking second world war bomb, and I’m thinking, ‘fuck me’ man, I’m visualising all kinds of things. Like my liver came out with it or something’

I’m hoping this is going to end soon. He carries on…

‘So anyway, I’m done, and I stand up, and I wipe my arse, right? Except there’s no skids on the paper. I look in the bog, and there’s no shit there either! Nothing there. I’m telling you mate, I spent the next four hours digging around in my trousers looking for that dump. I’d felt it, I’d smelt it, couldn’t find it anywhere.

He finally finished the story and sat back, breathless from recounting the drama. I tried to stop myself. I should have just smiled and sipped my pint. Instead, I said “No shit!’


2 Responses to Going Through the Motions

  1. Pete says:

    Ah richard, fast as ever!

    Drug stories, never good.

    If the drugs were that good in the first place, why would you have to talk about it so much after?

    It’s a similar feeling as people who say ‘listen to this song’ stuff a headphone in your ear long enough for you to hear a wail of guitar/flourish of drums/whatever, in no informative context whatsoever. then pull it out and say ‘yeah, and now check this bit out’ and repeat the process literally over and over. People like this WILL go on all day if they aren’t stopped.

    And yes, I do realise I’m one of them…

  2. McKinley says:

    HAHAHAHA (I know I said I hated comments but) AHAHAHA.


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