Wednesday, March 16, 2011


I am, of course, the "Dumbest" in this story.  This is the story about how I once (almost/maybe/probably) became a sexual slave to the what-would-be future Al-Qaeda bottom feeders.

Years ago, I was out with my only two girlfriends taller than me, Bergen and Terri.  We were having drinks Downtown at a swanky bar where we always found fun professionals to flirt with after a long day.  After several rounds we were approached by three very well dressed foreign businessmen who looked like they had just parked their magic carpet right outside.  Now this was pre 9/11, so confident Arab businessmen in Armani was more like something out of Disney's Aladdin than Darfur's Al Queda.  But regardless of racial profiling, we were still pretty dumb.

Quickly into conversation the men somehow convinced us to walk around the corner to their import store to check out handmade rugs and priceless art.  Everything just flowed so easily and as soon as we entered the dark, locked place of business things began happening very quickly.  The three men quickly separated the three of us like professional predators taking Bergen over to the hanging rugs, Terri to the cased art sculptures and me, "upstairs to see some vases." 

The tallest and most in charge of the three men whisked me up a long stairway into a dimly lit conference room towards a table which would seat about twenty.  The next thing I knew I heard two more men climbing the stairs and enter the room whom I had never seen before.  One was a shorter, younger Arab man and the other was a scrawny blonde white guy who didn't fit in anywhere.  I very naively kept looking around for these "vases" and turned back toward the table to see scrawny white guy pull a gallon sized zip lock bag from his belt-line.  I blinked my eyes and couldn't understand why he was opening a huge bag of powdered sugar.

An instant later, I realized that wasn't powdered sugar.  "Oh NO!!!" I said loudly to the three men while waving my open hands in front of me for the universal, "you've got this all wrong" sign.  "We don't want drugs!  We really do want to see the vases!"  I actually believed I had somehow given them the wrong idea, as I do so often throughout my life.  Perhaps "vase" translates to "a fucking huge amount of cocaine" in their native tongue. 

As I was trying to figure out how I somehow led these nice men in the wrong direction, my escort from popping up the stairs put his hand on the back of my head and shoved my face towards the five lines of white powder on the table.  It was a very gentle forcefulness, but I quickly realized that in trying to resist - his grip and push became more intense.  Now, although I am a big fan of the cannabis plant - I don't typically care for most drugs.  Particularly the speedy kind.  I really had no interest or curiosity in shoving this white powder up my nose - especially in front of other people.  Just gross!

Realizing I could very well pull a scene from "Annie Hall" where Woody Allen sneezes into the $2000/ounce mound of cocaine, the big guy scoops up an ample dose and literally shoves it into my nose while holding the back of my head down.  Now I realized I was no longer in control of any part of this night.  I started to see myself tied up next to Bergen and Terri and shoved in the cargo compartment of a plane on its way to somewhere women weren't allowed to show their faces.  Would Hollywood even consider making another, "Not Without My Daughter" flick in order to tell the story of my parent's quest to bring me home again?  I didn't see it happening.

The instant all three men started to approach me at once, I heard Terri running up the stairs saying, "Carrie!  It is time to go!  We are leaving now!"  She was always the smartest and most sober of the three of us, and although not much had changed with the girls downstairs - Terri knew something wasn't right up in vase inspection.  My trio of hosts quickly backed off from me while scrawny white guy made all signs of the drugs vanish in an instant.  Terri simply dashed in the room, grabbed me by the hand, and pulled me quickly away and down the stairs.  The men must have thought that since she acted with such authority and confidence that Terri was either a part of serious law enforcement or the daughter of a VERY strong American Pro Wrestler/Senator/Mob Boss.  For whatever reason, they didn't mess with her.

As we ran towards the locked entrance, we pulled Bergen away from her new friend who quickly shut down the alarm and unlocked the front door for us to make our escape.  The three of us ran two blocks away and hailed a cab to help us end our night.  I was totally freaking out and going over the whole night with the girls quickly realizing Bergen had no idea that we were ever in any danger.  She was about five seconds away from cutting a deal on a really nice area rug.  Suddenly the cab driver turned all of the way around the block and drove back towards the import shop.  I kept thinking, "He's one of them!" but he just drove on past the five men standing casually on the corner in front of their portal for exporting stupid American women to the other side of the world.

Rudolph Valentino, The Sheik, 1921


  1. Scary shit! I can't check the box for funny or cool. Not even sure interesting applies. Scary shit! Not surprising though, of course this happened to you!

  2. When I read about the conference room table in the downtown building it reminded me of another Carrie story. I think that one had a happier ending.

  3. Ahhhh, yes Veronica! A happy ending indeed.