A long time ago in the lay con days of 2010, I was based in a Muslim country where alcohol consumption among people of the faith was frowned upon, but everybody still did it. Well, not everybody. But quite a few.

At this juncture in life, I was called by the manager of a bar in a small hotel by the city's creek. This hotel primarily subsisted on traders who would come in for 30 hours, sign a few deals, have a few whiskeys and then depart back to their destination of origin.

The bar manager wanted to generate a buzz at his establishment, and it just so happened that I was busy promoting an entertainment product that involved people singing. He called me to offer the opportunity for my brand to set-up one of the machines and host a singing competition, where the winner would take home a machine. In my capacity as sponsor for the prize, I was asked to be part of the panel of judges who would allocate a score to each performance. We graded based upon singing quality as well as entertainment value or showmanship.

Naturally, I was plied with whatever strong or weak beverages I liked. At this stage in my fledgling drinking career, I had discovered beer. So when the kind waitress walked over to ask the judges what they would like to drink,

I said, "One Hoegaarden please."

she replied, "I'm sorry, sir. We don't offer whores here. This isn't that kind of bar."

Don't worry, reader. I'm only joking.

Anyway, there were more participants than we had bargained for. I ended up sitting behind the table at that bar for no less than five hours. During this time, I ate a bit of salad and drank eight pints. A teetotaler friend who joined me at the bar noticed that I was slightly more inebriated than he had previously witnessed me being. He recommended I leave my car at the hotel and take a taxi home.

I didn't feel like doing that, and so made a counter-proposal: How about, I'll order a cold can of coke, large bottle of water and pick up a pack of strong mint chewing gum from the nearby grocery store. After doing this, he agreed that I seemed to be "OK". I assured him that this was indeed the case, we parted ways and I took the elevator towards the top floor of the multistory car park where my vehicle awaited.

After navigating through the parking lot, I turned right onto the street leading towards the main road, highway and eventually home. However, upon exiting, the beam of a flashlight caught my face. It was a policeman stood by his 4x4, which had hazards blinking. My pulse quickened in fear as the gentleman approached the driver's side of my Ford. I immediately began imaging the first words I would say in the telephone call I was allowed to make from the holding cell, where I would probably serve two weeks to a month.

"Salamalaykum [Hello]," I said as I rolled down my window.

He looked into my eyes. I should say at this point that I wore a black shirt, white tie and formal pants, with a blazer tossed across the passenger seat and a number of fliers scattered about the car. His first question was terrifying in its directness.

"You drink?"

Within about 3 seconds, I calmly said, "No sir, I was actually working late at an event in the hotel over there." After he took one more look around the car and my face, he said, "OK. Go."

I couldn't believe it. After saying thank you in Arabic, I rolled up the window and slowly accelerated towards the turning, and freedom. After taking the turn and checking my mirrors to ensure he wasn't pursuing, I floored it to the highway. My heart was racing and I couldn't believe how lucky I was, and stupid this police was.

The End.

- Thunker

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Thank you for reading. I do not endorse drinking and driving and have since improved my behavior. Please think before you drink.

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