Kissed and Robbed in Seminyak
There we were again, perched in the gutter outside a dingy convenience store eating Pringles and sinking Bintangs, on a mission to get wasted in Bali. After numerous warm convenience store beverages, a dude named Willis and I were well on our way to getting Willised. This was a term we’d been using to explain a unique level of drunk in which one becomes severely incoherent and irrational. Willis got this way almost every night, hence the name.
After one more beer pit stop at the MiniMart, we decided to find a dirty club where we could drive some well-deserved spirits into our thirsty faces. So we drew out almost all the money we had left for the trip and vowed to say yes to any and every offer that came upon us. Almost immediately, shop owners started pestering us to buy low-quality souvenirs. We didn’t say yes to any of it, instinctually knowing that these weren’t the kind of bad decisions we had in mind.
Within minutes, a small, fat Balinese man threw himself onto Willis yelling, “Ooooh so sorry!” in the campest voice I’d ever heard. The man then mentioned the word tequila, and by then, Willis was drooling. Having deduced that nothing in Bali has a fixed price, we got the tequila shot down to 50,000 Rupiah – which may have already been the cost, but is cheap as fuck back home. Our budgets, however, were so tight that we continued to work the price.
The short fat man introduced us to one of his friends, who had a sarong down his shirt in place of boobs and spoke in a high voice that seemed to be for effect. After our best efforts to barter, the men made us an offer, but the terms and conditions would require a little bit of a stretch on our sexual orientations.
“We will give you the first shots free, and then discounted shots afterwards if you two will hook up with us,” the Balinese men offered. “Fuck it,” Willis and I said almost simultaneously, then we went for it. It was my first time kissing another dude, but… free shots. Definitely worth it.
Halfway through the night, we’d spent everything we’d pulled from the ATM, but were determined to continue partying. We were proper Willised, so the irrational decision making began. Willis decided it would be a great idea for him to run off and find an ATM, leaving me alone in the gay club surrounded by ladyboys, which was cool. After about half an hour, he returned with cash in hand and the night went on, kissing strange Balinese men for cheap drinks. The short fat man was very persistent about getting Willis out the back for a “massage”; however, he was unsuccessful. The rest of the night was a bit of a blur, but I distinctly remember Willis getting groped by a very attractive ladyboy on his way out.
The next day, I awoke to be greeted by two messages from the Balinese men, who’d found me on Facebook. They’d sent photos and videos of us in action. Neither of us could really remember what was happening on the screen.
Then came the obligatory check of the bank account to inspect the damage. For me it was just the usual, “Fuck, wasted some more money last night,” but for Willis it was a bit more serious. When he logged into internet banking, his accounts were completely gone, along with the money. Willis called the bank and they explained that throughout the previous night, someone had withdrawn lots of $200 on three occasions. A thief must have seen his pin when he went to the ATM, stolen his card and then taken it for a spree.
For the rest of our time in Bali, he was left eating one cheap street meal a day and selling his possessions on the internet to get by. The joys of being Willised.
Cover by Anggara Mahendra