A Wednesday night in a hotel in an industrial park in Delhi. It's 21h00. Three British engineers in a bar in Delhi. It sounds like a joke. A Scot, an Englishman living in Scotland for so long he's got the accent and me. A gentle beer or two and peanuts. The usual chitchat.
In walks Christine; a tiny American of Korean extract I'd spoken to at the bar the previous night. It's her last night before she heads home. Just a quick beer to be polite before she heads home, her flight at 03h00, taxi booked for 0h15.
22h comes and goes and the beer and chat carry on. Nothing consequential, just really good company. 23h comes and goes and I'm sure she has it all in hand. All until the double Jack Daniels and coke come out. Not me, I'm not daft. But the other three are polishing them off like nothing. By midnight, it's time to step up. The boys have had 7 each, she's had 11. The only hint that she's been on the pop is she's fairly relaxed about her flight.
"Better get you packed" someone suggests, so the four of us pile into her room. "Want something from the mini-bar?" she says. She's not packing. So two of us start emptying her room into her cavernous suitcase. Makeup, clothes, lingerie. Then the phone rings "Shh, it's my husband". The three of us are looking at each other trying not to snigger. A number of apologetic excuses, yes, you can tell she's fairly gone.
Converse recovered from the suitcase we finally pour it and her into a taxi. She just emailed me saying she slept the whole trip to Frankfurt. At her next transfer in the US she was asked "Did anyone pack your bag for you?"
In walks Christine; a tiny American of Korean extract I'd spoken to at the bar the previous night. It's her last night before she heads home. Just a quick beer to be polite before she heads home, her flight at 03h00, taxi booked for 0h15.
22h comes and goes and the beer and chat carry on. Nothing consequential, just really good company. 23h comes and goes and I'm sure she has it all in hand. All until the double Jack Daniels and coke come out. Not me, I'm not daft. But the other three are polishing them off like nothing. By midnight, it's time to step up. The boys have had 7 each, she's had 11. The only hint that she's been on the pop is she's fairly relaxed about her flight.
"Better get you packed" someone suggests, so the four of us pile into her room. "Want something from the mini-bar?" she says. She's not packing. So two of us start emptying her room into her cavernous suitcase. Makeup, clothes, lingerie. Then the phone rings "Shh, it's my husband". The three of us are looking at each other trying not to snigger. A number of apologetic excuses, yes, you can tell she's fairly gone.
Converse recovered from the suitcase we finally pour it and her into a taxi. She just emailed me saying she slept the whole trip to Frankfurt. At her next transfer in the US she was asked "Did anyone pack your bag for you?"
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