I was in Perth in search of some clothes and a haircut, and I just wanted to make it quick, as I was brutally hungover. I went into a clothing store called Safari Blokes that looked like it held promise.
A kind of bitchy, disinterested older woman came over to help me. I really couldn’t blame her. I offered her nothing. I felt like if you saw me walking towards you, you would cross the street. I offered her a “G’Day,” as an empty condom package fell to the floor through the hole in my pocket.
She pretended not to see it. Regardless, I said, all innocent like, “Where did that come from?” Then, when I bent over to quickly pick it up, half a burnt joint fell out of my shirt pocket onto the floor.
I quickly told her that I wanted one of everything as I tried to restore my calm and reduce my heart rate. This intel helped ease the situation because just like that, her bitchiness was replaced with a smile. Obviously, commission was part of her compensation.
My head was officially pounding, and I was dehydrated, but I always seemed to do my best shopping while hungover. I didn’t fret over details; I just bought. I yanked a couple of shirts off a rack and grabbed two pairs of shorts to try on. The saleslady gladly directed me to the changing rooms.
I was sweating and feeling rougher than crocodile skin. My potential new clothes were on hangers, which I carried in front of me, pointing forward. I reached the end of the clothing racks and turned right to find the dressing rooms. As I turned, and the strangest freakiest thing happened—my hangers bumped into some other bloke’s hanger, who I presumed was leaving the dressing room. When I looked him in the eyes to gauge my next move, he looked into mine, and it was absolutely terrifying.
This freaking bloke on the other side of the world looked exactly like me. I mean exactly! My heart rate hit about 300, I thought I was in a science fiction movie. I swore I would never drink again! It was a life-changing moment! Then, as my thinking caught up with my brain’s computing, I realized that in my hungover state, I had, in fact, bumped into a full-length mirror.
So I finally found myself, hungover in Safari Blokes in Perth, Australia, with empty condom packages and half-burned joints falling out of my pockets. Mom would be so proud.
