In any other country(I’ve been to) besides the U.S and Korea, nobody intentionally shoves alcohol down your throat. Everybody voluntarily chooses to get fucked up. And anybody that has vacationed anywhere can relate to that ecstatic feeling sizzling in the pit of your stomach, spewing euphoria through every vain in your body. And when you voluntarily intoxicate yourself while surfing that wave of euphoria, you’ve joined an exclusive club of drunkenness few have been to. Move over moonshine. We’ve crowned a new Death Mix.
Every Tuesday in Rotterdam, there’s this giant party at a club called BED. Unlike the U.S, pre-games last until midnight while the club closes at 4. Pre-games usually take place in a common room or someone’s apartment. Whoever volunteers to host. On Tuesday January 14, 2014, because I think I am ridiculously hype, I unintentionally decided to take on the Death Mix. Immediately feeling the hype, I buy Smirnoff Vodka and Coke from the nearby liquor store, pounding shots American style with my new foreign buddies. We gotta show these guys how America drinks!! I hosted the pre-game and there were an assortment of nationalities in attendance: Brazilians, Italians, Americans, Spanish, Canadians, Turkish, Hong Kong etc. I didn’t remember anyone’s names at the time but I felt ridiculously cool because most foreigners assume I’m this awkward, english as a second language, asian kid. And when I start saying dope things in perfect California english, their jaws drop because what chinese person doesn’t speak chinese?? And apparently, California is the greatest place on earth except in California. It’s infested with hot girls, beaches and beautiful weather 24/7. The hype levels increase. Alcoholic inebriation rises.
At around midnight, the entire pre-game crew headed to Club BED. January in Rotterdam, Netherlands is freezing( in my standards) at around 40 F( 4 C) so when going out, you must bundle up. However, when you get into the club, there’s no possible way you can spit game on honey’s when your head gushes waterfalls of sweat. Therefore, you must check your coat-in. However, the club decides to put the coat check OUTSIDE the club in the blistering cold. To add to that, there is no line but a mosh-pit, free-for-all fight to get to the front of the line. When I arrive at the club, I’m piss drunk getting squeezed by a crowd of people in the coat-check line, impatient in satisfying my urge to experience a “Euro” club. I had a strong urge to swing my elbow, bruising the greasy-haired, well-dressed dutch dudes surrounding me. I realized this would be irresponsible. I found a good picture of a similar scene:
And as I impatiently got crushed, angst and tension gradually collected in my stomach, spiking the Death Mix with more ingredients. His power increases. I am REALLY tryna take more shots now.
The club has three floors. Since Europe literally breathes in a cloud of tobacco, there’s a huge section devoted to smoking. Thats the red-colored top floor. The middle floor is the main bar where they play shitty mainstream top 40 songs like Tonight- NeYo, We Found Love – Rihanna etc. :
The underground floor, the deep house floor, was my shit. I can’t find a picture of it but the section looked a bit bigger than the size of a basketball court. Dark plus neon lights, flashing to the beat of the music. Crowded. Repetitive, head-bob dancing. Beautiful blonde, dutch girls. Upon entering, my eyes immediately locked onto the mini-bar. I could feel the vibration of the bass, jiggling the excess skin on my body, quickly elevating me to unseen levels of hype. I’m at a fucking club in fucking Europe. Holy fucking shit. ( Excuse the language, but it was simply too hype) The Death Mix kicked in at full throttle challenging me for more. I accepted. I darted for the bar, unaware that I ditched everyone I came with.
Me: ” GIVE ME THE STRONGEST DRINK YOU HAVE!”
Bartender: ” It’s two for one. Would you like two?”
I’m holding two shots of this black, poison-looking liquor, realizing my over-enthusiasm isolated me from everyone. The Death-Mix had me in a chokehold.
Note: I did not know the alcoholic contents of said liquor when making the purchase. I returned to the club on another Tuesday and found out black poison was 160 proof.
Well, no one else here I know. I guess I’ll take both of these myself! I tilt my head back and down the black poison shots, back to back and my throat immediately constricts, causing me to gag. I start intensively choking, abs flexed hard as stone, heat rushing into my head. CGAHHH, CGAHHHH. I looked like a dying goose, unattractively quacking the last bits of life away. I then, had no re-collection of the next 3 hours. I vanished from existence on earth. And you see, none of my friends saw me for the next three hours and we had a giant group of at least 15 people. They didn’t know where I was. Apparently they were fucked up too, since a large percentage of them got kicked out for promiscuously dancing on the tables. I was nowhere to be found. For 3 hours, I did not exist on this planet. The Death Mix went for the knockout.
At around 11am, I creaked open my eyes to a pale white canvas’d room surrounding me. Oh my god, I’m in heaven! No. My phone, wallet, shoes were missing. I don’t know why, but this didn’t worry me. Somehow, I managed to nag my coat from coat-check. Nice! I figured I woke up at a friend’s apartment. However, my bed for the night didn’t feel soft. A white concrete bench? Empty room? Empty everthing? My spine crackled as I arose from drunken slumber. No puke at least. Hmmm, where could I be? As I looked around, I saw a small window appearing on the top half of the door. Huh?
Oh shit. I’m in fuckin jail.
Since I’m still drunk, I sprint to the silver intercom and start furiously pounding the ‘talk’ button.
Me: ” GET ME OUT OF HERE. GET ME OUT OF HERE. GET ME OUT OF HERE. WHEN CAN I LEAVE? I NEED TO LEAVE. GET ME OUT OF HERE. GET ME OUT OF HERE.”
Intercom: ” You will need to wait 1.5 hours before we can talk.”
Upon hearing this, I knock out on the bench.
You see, normally you’re mind would start panicking, thinking you’re fucked. Oh my god, am I going to get kicked out the country? Will I need to go to court? How long will I be here for? Is this going to go on my record? Will employers see this? Are these power-hungry cops, waiting at moments notice to beat the shit out of me? What will all my exchange friends think of me? Million possible thoughts. However, my mind never jumped to these thoughts. Why? Because I am Jeff Li and I am dope as shit. Death Mix gave me the Mike Tyson knock-out ear bite, and I’m still standing. I knew I was going to be OK.
As I slept, a 6’4, blurry-faced policeman opened the door. He carefully explained that he found me knocked out in the middle of the street at 3 am. He could not leave a citizen passed out in 30 degree weather, sleeping on the street. He took my wallet, phone and shoes( I don’t understand why shoes) so he could identify me. Very friendly dude. He noticed I came from California. I casually engaged in small talk( Dutch are excellent at this). At the end, he says ” All I need to do is pay the 100 euro fine and I’d be good. ”
When I arrived at the counter, I paid the 100 euro fine and walked out the station. I didn’t have my international bank account set up, so I had to call my dad to let him know that his credit-card statement next month would read $150 USD Rotterdam Police Station, just so he wouldn’t get startled.
Besides feeling like someone stabbed me in the head with a knife, I was alive, functioning and breathing. I took Death Mix’s hardest punch and I’m standing. Or maybe, I was too drunk/hungover to freak out. I’d prefer to continue thinking I’m too dope. As the pain of dehydration slowly dug into the crevis’ of my brain, I arrived home, fell onto my bed, skipped all my classes for the day, and went to sleep.