Announcer: "And now it's time to play, 'Let's...Get...Stupid,' the ridiculous game of chance where happenings can be interesting, but mishaps can be fricking hilarious. Let's meet tonight's player. Lane Bieler is a thirty-eight year old experienced world traveler about to embark on his third trip to Asia. He doesn't want just another boring fourteen-hour flight so he's volunteered to play 'Let's...Get...Stupid.' Let's remind our audience how the game is played. Lane is going to toss a coin in the air and see if the result is catastrophic or fricking hilarious."
Background: I had decided early on that staying conscious for the first segment of my twenty-four hour trip was not an option. A friend of mine has access to an arsenal of drugs thanks to his mom, who hasn't got time for the pain, and his brother, who checked out of Hotel Reality fifteen years ago. I acquired a couple of Vikadins and two little, yellow pills that he assumed to be Valium. Two little, yellow pills just lying randomly on the counter.
So here I am in the city, passport-in-hand, with four hours to kill. My mission is to find the third book in the Pearl S. Buck trilogy I've been reading, have a couple of drinks, get some dinner and get on Bart. It's happy hour at the first bar with two-for-one drinks, so we have two rounds and the bartender buys us a "bon voyage" shot. Two bookstores later, I find a different book by the same author. Good enough. We hit up another lounge for a stiff martini and top it all off with my first meal of the day- a sushi roll and some sake. We now head back to my friend's van where I proceed to drink a tall-boy and get really high. Finally, it's time to get on Bart. Mustering all of my concentration I manage to get on the right train. For those who know me, it wouldn't be surprising if I got on a train going the wrong direction stone-cold sober- which I'm not.
Fast forward and I'm sitting in an exit-row, aisle seat next to the bathroom and the flight-attendant station with the stewardess seat directly facing me. I can hardly believe that I'm actually allowed to board the plane and as if this wasn't enough, my neighbor David and his Malaysian wife speak English. So we're rapping about Thailand, getting settled in and I decide to pop my little, yellow pill so that I can pass out right after meal service. During takeoff, the stewardess and I are talking about Taiwan and I'm excited about my seven-hour lay-over and the fact that I printed out the Taipei chapter from the guidebook's website. She writes the instructions to get downtown using a combination of bus and train and says that later she will get me the paperwork that allows me to leave the airport.
We reach cruising altitude and they serve dinner. I'm having a little trouble getting the utensils out of the plastic, which is slightly embarrassing since I had effortlessly extracted the tray from the armrest only ten minutes earlier. I manage to get about half-way through the main dish when it just gets too tedious to continue lifting the fork to my mouth. "I'll just save the rest for later," I think. At some point, I open my eyes and see that my meal is long gone. I grab my water bottle, but my shaking hand can't seem to hold it steady. Using two hands, I painstakingly guide it toward it's destination, but manage to get more on David than in my mouth. Thoroughly humiliated, I try to explain the situation to him. "Dude, I'm tho thorry. I thook thith Valium, buth I think it wath thomthing elth. Lithen tho me. I can't uth my thongue." Before David can respond, I drift off again.
When I wake again, I decide to go for a walk, but as I lean forward to stand I realize that I've lost my equilibrium. Afraid to fall, I sit back and then it dawns on me that whatever I took must be some serious anti-psychotic shit. My heart starts to pound very hard- slowly and deliberately, as if it is determined to bust out of my chest. I think that I may die at this very moment, but instead, fall back to my slumber.
For the second meal service, I'm not quite as adept at opening my tray and the stewardess has to help. I manage to get to the bathroom and then take a slow, exceedingly cautious walk to the back using headrests to steady myself. David asks if I'm alright and I thank him for his concern the best I can with my new lisp. I wonder if I'll ever regain control my tongue as I drift off, yet again.
As we prepare to land, I'm awakened by the stewardess who hands me the promised departure form. With all the dexterity of a first-grader, I manage to fill in my name, date and flight number, as if I'm really going somewhere. The flight lasted over thirteen hours, but to me it seems we just took off.
After deplaning, I wander around the airport for awhile on this gray, rainy day trying to regain the use of my tongue and realize that I'm in no condition to go to town or to stay awake for that matter. I eat a bowl of soup that I can't taste and head to a remote gate to sleep. You know those airport benches, the ones with the armrests connecting a group of black-leather chairs specifically designed to make sleep impossible? I proceed to snake my way around and through those armrests to get the deepest, most restful sleep imaginable. In fact, I was lucky to catch my connecting flight. I had set my alarm for one hour before departure, but at one point woke up and decided it would be best to go the actual gate to avoid any more potential mishaps. When I got there and looked at the clock, I realized that I had set my watch an hour slow and it was now time to get ready for boarding.
I sleep through most of the four hour flight, leave my unread book on the plane and arrive in Saigon around six in the evening, still very dazed. I wander the streets drinking in the experience for about four hours, choose a guesthouse and then sleep for another twelve hours.
The little, yellow pill turned out to be Clozapine, prescribed for daily use to treat schizophrenia. Now I may be a little OCD, possibly even a touch manic-depressive, but I'm no schizophrenic. Another good reason that I missed my initial flight which had only a ninety minute layover in Taiwan. Now for those of you who may be worried that, if I've had this many problems before I've even arrived, let me assure you- the fun has only just begun.
Background: I had decided early on that staying conscious for the first segment of my twenty-four hour trip was not an option. A friend of mine has access to an arsenal of drugs thanks to his mom, who hasn't got time for the pain, and his brother, who checked out of Hotel Reality fifteen years ago. I acquired a couple of Vikadins and two little, yellow pills that he assumed to be Valium. Two little, yellow pills just lying randomly on the counter.
So here I am in the city, passport-in-hand, with four hours to kill. My mission is to find the third book in the Pearl S. Buck trilogy I've been reading, have a couple of drinks, get some dinner and get on Bart. It's happy hour at the first bar with two-for-one drinks, so we have two rounds and the bartender buys us a "bon voyage" shot. Two bookstores later, I find a different book by the same author. Good enough. We hit up another lounge for a stiff martini and top it all off with my first meal of the day- a sushi roll and some sake. We now head back to my friend's van where I proceed to drink a tall-boy and get really high. Finally, it's time to get on Bart. Mustering all of my concentration I manage to get on the right train. For those who know me, it wouldn't be surprising if I got on a train going the wrong direction stone-cold sober- which I'm not.
Fast forward and I'm sitting in an exit-row, aisle seat next to the bathroom and the flight-attendant station with the stewardess seat directly facing me. I can hardly believe that I'm actually allowed to board the plane and as if this wasn't enough, my neighbor David and his Malaysian wife speak English. So we're rapping about Thailand, getting settled in and I decide to pop my little, yellow pill so that I can pass out right after meal service. During takeoff, the stewardess and I are talking about Taiwan and I'm excited about my seven-hour lay-over and the fact that I printed out the Taipei chapter from the guidebook's website. She writes the instructions to get downtown using a combination of bus and train and says that later she will get me the paperwork that allows me to leave the airport.
We reach cruising altitude and they serve dinner. I'm having a little trouble getting the utensils out of the plastic, which is slightly embarrassing since I had effortlessly extracted the tray from the armrest only ten minutes earlier. I manage to get about half-way through the main dish when it just gets too tedious to continue lifting the fork to my mouth. "I'll just save the rest for later," I think. At some point, I open my eyes and see that my meal is long gone. I grab my water bottle, but my shaking hand can't seem to hold it steady. Using two hands, I painstakingly guide it toward it's destination, but manage to get more on David than in my mouth. Thoroughly humiliated, I try to explain the situation to him. "Dude, I'm tho thorry. I thook thith Valium, buth I think it wath thomthing elth. Lithen tho me. I can't uth my thongue." Before David can respond, I drift off again.
When I wake again, I decide to go for a walk, but as I lean forward to stand I realize that I've lost my equilibrium. Afraid to fall, I sit back and then it dawns on me that whatever I took must be some serious anti-psychotic shit. My heart starts to pound very hard- slowly and deliberately, as if it is determined to bust out of my chest. I think that I may die at this very moment, but instead, fall back to my slumber.
For the second meal service, I'm not quite as adept at opening my tray and the stewardess has to help. I manage to get to the bathroom and then take a slow, exceedingly cautious walk to the back using headrests to steady myself. David asks if I'm alright and I thank him for his concern the best I can with my new lisp. I wonder if I'll ever regain control my tongue as I drift off, yet again.
As we prepare to land, I'm awakened by the stewardess who hands me the promised departure form. With all the dexterity of a first-grader, I manage to fill in my name, date and flight number, as if I'm really going somewhere. The flight lasted over thirteen hours, but to me it seems we just took off.
After deplaning, I wander around the airport for awhile on this gray, rainy day trying to regain the use of my tongue and realize that I'm in no condition to go to town or to stay awake for that matter. I eat a bowl of soup that I can't taste and head to a remote gate to sleep. You know those airport benches, the ones with the armrests connecting a group of black-leather chairs specifically designed to make sleep impossible? I proceed to snake my way around and through those armrests to get the deepest, most restful sleep imaginable. In fact, I was lucky to catch my connecting flight. I had set my alarm for one hour before departure, but at one point woke up and decided it would be best to go the actual gate to avoid any more potential mishaps. When I got there and looked at the clock, I realized that I had set my watch an hour slow and it was now time to get ready for boarding.
I sleep through most of the four hour flight, leave my unread book on the plane and arrive in Saigon around six in the evening, still very dazed. I wander the streets drinking in the experience for about four hours, choose a guesthouse and then sleep for another twelve hours.
The little, yellow pill turned out to be Clozapine, prescribed for daily use to treat schizophrenia. Now I may be a little OCD, possibly even a touch manic-depressive, but I'm no schizophrenic. Another good reason that I missed my initial flight which had only a ninety minute layover in Taiwan. Now for those of you who may be worried that, if I've had this many problems before I've even arrived, let me assure you- the fun has only just begun.
