You did NOT just say that... oh, wait, you actually did...

People never cease to surprise me. Every once in a while, it is an incredibly pleasant surprise, an overwhelmingly touching one that restores my faith in the human race. More often though, I am merely reminded that I do not actually like people very much. 

Yes, I said it. I do not like people. And of course I do not mean that I do not like any body at all. There are a great number of persons whom I like a great deal. There are also many whom I love and care about very deeply indeed. Many whom I thoroughly enjoy spending time with and wish I could see more of, have more conversations with, and get to know better. I generally enjoy social events, parties, although I also often have my I-just-need-to-be-alone moments. People as individuals are profoundly interesting if you know their story, where they've been, what they've done, the things they've seen, how they think, how they feel. And everyone has a story. 

Some people's stories though, I really do not want to know. All right, maybe that is a bit harsh. After all, I do not really think that I am in a position to decide whether or not another person is worth getting to know. Perhaps at the end of the day, everyone is worth getting to know. So let's put it another way instead: Being aware of the limited time I have on earth, I am resigned to the fact that I will not be able to get to know everyone. And in light of that, I feel that I should exercise some discretion as to whom I sit to share my pint with, as it were. There are so many people out there who are plain rude, crass, thoughtless, selfish, aggressive, aggravating, malicious, hurtful, careless. Many who are just plain imbeciles, who think that being assholes or rude makes them cool and is just a signed of "character". Yes, it most certainly says something about your character, just perhaps not what you think.

On two occasions while out for drinks recently, I found myself grasping my drink just a little tighter than usual and wishing I could somehow extricate myself from the conversation. The first is too long and complicated to go into right now. The second started innocently enough about moving on from the pub where we were to a club. Next thing I knew, we were talking about roofys or roofies or however it is spelled. I am not quite sure how that got worked into the conversation, but I know why - because there were several persons in the conversation who were, rather obviously, fans. My knowledge of roofys last night was limited to this: it is short for Rohypnol, and that it is one of the drugs sometimes called date rape drugs. I know that it can leave the person who takes it unconscious and wipes their memory. At least, on all the CSIs and Law & Orders they do, and that is why it is often used as a date rape drug. I did not actually know of its use as a recreational drug. 

So there I found myself, half perched on a bar stool with a drink in my hand, having a conversation with a bunch of guys I barely knew, and being asked, in rather loud voices, mind you, to be heard over the noise from all the other conversations in the crowded pub, whether I have "tried it", My confusion must have been clearly written on my face. I was confused that roofies could be something that I could want to try. My confusions was misinterpreted as not being familiar with the word. "Roofies? Roofies? You know roofies?", I was asked repeatedly in surround sound. It felt like I was staring at them in confusion for at least a minute, but it must have just been a second or two before I recovered and said yes, I know roofies, meaning that I have heard of them. "Have you tried it?", they ask. My answer must have been very unexpected. "You've NOT tried it??" they ask in a tone which I would have used if someone my age from an English speaking country tells me that they don't know Friends, or rather F.R.I.E.N.D.S. (Is it meant to be an acronym? Google probably knows.)

I was already having difficulty wrapping my head about the fact that we were having this conversation at all, let alone the direction the conversation was taking. I glanced over at the other people in the circle and some of them shrugged and shook their heads at me. I took that to mean that they were equally confused, but perhaps somewhat less indignant. And THEN, one of roofy fans said to me, "well, then you haven't lived." The tone, declarative. It was stating an indusputable fact, not open for discussion. At that point, my brain was screaming, "I have not lived because I have not taken the "DATE RAPE DRUG"???!!" I mean seriously, are you out of your mind? Which planet are you from??!! Instead, I said (in my head very calmly, although it probably did not come out so calmly) that on the contrary, I have lived, and I prefer to enjoy what I have lived (I could have probably phrased that better) and that I prefer to remember what I experienced, and THAT is why I have not tried it. By the time I got to the end of my statement, my voice was in no danger of being mistaken for calm, and there were a great many more adverbs inserted between every other word. And of course by adverbs, I mean expletives.

That was a bit of a lie. The truth is, I would not have the slightest idea where or how to go about procuring one such roofy, or any other recreational drug for that matter, if I ever decided I wanted one. But that small fact aside, I have never actually felt the desire. I have smoked the odd joint, and enjoyed a space cake or two, but nothing more than that. Despite having dated someone for a few months who always had a stash of something or other, and having lived two floors above the resident dealer in the halls of residence, I was never tempted. Of course, now if I wanted to try something, all I need to do is track down these guys and allow them to fetch me a drink. Which one of them did offer to do, by the way. He offered to get me a roofie colada. As in, he actually said the words "shall I get you a roofie colada?" By that point, I was so indignant it was all I could do not to start yelling at him. They found my indignation funny, which probably a good thing. It saved the conversation from getting too heated. And stopped me from denouncing them to the devil or somehow getting us thrown out of the pub.

So riddle me this. Why were we having that conversation? Obviously they think recreational drugs were acceptable, if not the best thing electricity. But whether they knew that roofys are also used to facilitate rape aside, do they really think that it is alright to tell someone else that they have not lived because they have not done drugs? Seriously? 

I get that the use of recreational drugs are really a lot more common than I am aware of on a day to day level. I am not out clubbing much, and I do not happen to spend much time in the company of people who do any kind of drugs on a regular basis. But still, if I had to take a stand one way or another, I would have to say I do not approve. And I would be tempted to steer clear of people who do use drugs regularly. Perhaps it is the possibility of losing control that gets my hackles up. I realise the same could be said for alcohol, but I have never drank so much that I could not remember what happened. Not really. There have been times when a bit fuzzy but by and large, I have always been able to account for what I did, what I said and where I was. I have never woken up anywhere wondering where I was or how I got there, and not being able to remember leaving or getting home. I never felt, nor woken up the next day and thought, that I did not have control of what was going on.

Except once. That time, a bouncer was called to open the bathroom door where I had locked myself in because I was not responding. I could remember hearing them on the other side of the door and in my head I answered, but according to them, I did not. My head was spinning in one direction and the room in another (I cannot actually remember this being the case, of course, but it sounds good!). I could hear voices around me but could not speak or move. I had a sense of being lifted and carried somewhere. By this, I mean I could feel by body being lifted and the person carrying me walking. I could feel the movements but I could not feel that person touching me. To everyone else, I appeared to be unconscious. I was later told that the guy I was with that night had his arms wrapped all around me. I could hear him talking to me in my ear, but I could not feel his arms. I remember actually thinking that it was strange that he could be so close that he could talk in my ear without touching me. It was like my body was numb. I could not feel and I could not move. The bouncers suspected that I had been drugged, and I think they actually did call for an ambulance. But I did not go to the hospital in the end, so I never found out if it was anything. It might have just been too much to drink, although I had not actually been drinking that much that night. So ask me again why I am not keen to try a roofy. 

I am happy with the highs I get from life. From standing on the top of a mountain with the clouds below me and feeling like I am on top of the world. From being in love and being in the arms of a lover and knowing that I am loved back. From the height of passion. From running as fast as I can, or from any high intensity workout. From jumping into a pool and being immersed in the water for the first time after a long time. From being underwater and surrounded by thousands of brightly coloured fish. From feeling the wind on my face. From creating something with my own hands. From having my dreams come true. From making someone else's dream come true. From life. From living. (and remembering, of course.)