 photo: www.nextstopworld.com |
There are many possible outcomes to getting your purse stolen in a Hong Kong nightclub.The most obvious, of course, is not getting your purse back and spending the rest of your trip trying to get a new passport, replacing credit cards, getting money, etc. On the flip side, you could get yourself arrested. Or you could fall somewhere in between with a friendly Canadian security guard, an Irishman and a blue haired best friend who isn’t afraid to slap somebody. |
Unfortunately, because of the typhoon, a lot of the bars on our list were closed. We made our way into the Red Light District of Wan Chai, found the closest thing to a dive rock bar, called The Wanch, and started drinking. It was packed, cosy and filled with enough other foreigners to feel like we could have been anywhere. We picked up on a lot of Irish and Australian accents and had no trouble making friends and getting tipsy on cheap beer to a Filipino house band playing American neo-soul covers.
When we’d had our fill of off key Amy Winehouse and Estelle, we decided to hop to another bar along the strip. We looked down the street and there, right in front of us, was a big lit-up sign advertising exactly what we were after: PUB & DISCO. We knew straight away what each other was thinking and, without a single word, took off towards the beacon of light in anticipation of good times at the legendary Hong Kong Cafe: Pub & Disco, aka Neptune II.
He motioned for us to make our way down the stairs as he began speaking into his walkie-talkie.
The club was dark with lasers, lights and women bouncing all over the dance floor to ‘90’s R&B. We were greeted by the Canadian bouncer and we high-fived him, having no clue at that point how important this guy was going to be. The night quickly dissolves into a swirl of drinks and dancing to Nelly & Kelly Rowland’s ‘Dilemma’. And then another cover band hits the stage. When one of the backup dancers takes over on bass and slays ‘Hotline Bling’, we were mesmerized. And drunk.
When the band takes a break, we find a wall full of album covers. Cece promptly jumped up on the couch in front of them for me to take a picture.
HERE'S WHERE THINGS START HAPPENING.
I made the grave mistake of setting my purse down on the seat directly beside me while I took Cece’s picture. NEVER DO THIS IN HONG KONG OR PRETTY MUCH ANYWHERE (except Japan). By the time I reached down to put my phone back in, there was no purse where once a purse sat. It was as if it never even existed. I was stunned and became completely useless for the rest of this story.
Then Cece takes over the situation. Now she’s on a personal mission to find this purse after making a point of complimenting it earlier. I’m lucky, because Cece isn’t the type to notice something of mine unless she fancies it. Thankfully, she didn’t think my purse was trash. She was determined that if this purse was anywhere in the bar, we were finding it. She quickly enlisted the Canadian bouncer, who also made finding it his personal mission once he learned my passport was inside. Cece tried to reassure me we could get everything replaced tomorrow if, as I was convinced, it was well and truly gone. But I was still in full-on panic mode.
I mean, who steals a purse and sticks around?
Enter the Irishman.
At this point, I’m basically just running around the bar flailing my arms and wailing, “My purse! My purse! My passport! My purse!” or something to that effect. Cece and the Canadian bouncer are, flashlights out, in full pursuit. Suddenly, Cece pointed and yelled, “THERE IT IS! THAT’S MY FRIEND’S PURSE!”
It was sitting next to a red-faced blonde guy sitting on a platform beside a stripper pole.
Cece and the bouncer storm the guy who looks too drunk to even realize what’s happening at first. When he does, he grabs the purse to his chest and starts insisting loudly that it belongs to his girlfriend. This is a pretty bold move given that there is no woman anywhere near him. And my passport, which can quickly prove whose purse it is, is likely inside. Cece snatches the purse and the bouncer takes it from her, saying “let’s see what’s inside.” At this point, Irish guy is in full red-faced in spitting-mad meltdown mode while insisting it’s his invisible girlfriend’s.
Sure enough, inside are all the contents I’d described: wallet; makeup; and one Canadian passport with my mug on it.
More walkie-talkie chats happen, police are called and I think it was this point the Irishman realized he’s in deep shit in a foreign country. I didn’t think a person could get even redder, but here we are. He is FREAKING out now and STILL screaming that it’s his girlfriend’s purse. No one is amused, least of all Cece, who has had about enough of the whole situation. She marches right up to him and, with one fluid motion, SLAAAAAAAAAAAP!! She backhands him right upside his head.
I slapped a b!?$h in the face. -Cece C.
Before she can slap him back down with the front of her palm, she’s grabbed by our Canadian security friend and gets a drink thrown on her by the now shrieking Irishman. He’s wailing about assault and having Cece arrested and next thing I know I’m jumping into the melee, fists flying.
The other bouncer grabs me before I can even connect any punches – I’m useless in this story, remember. There’s yelling and commotion, mostly between us and the Irishman who’s clutching his face, screaming bloody murder. The best part is that he’s STILL insisting my purse is his non-existent girlfriend’s. The bouncers are holding my friend and I and saying something about us getting out of there before the police come and we’re charged with assault.
"WE'RE LEAVING!"
Cece grabs me by the arm and pulls me out of the club as fast as she can. She drags me back up the stairs and we throw ourselves into the first taxi we see. We don’t know if we’re being chased by police or the Irishman and are in full drunk escape mode.
Straight out of a movie, Cece points dead ahead and yells, “JUST DRIVE!”
The driver looks over his shoulder to see if we’re in an actual chase or we’re just two drunk foreign women. He decides it’s probably a combination of both. Without questioning us, he floors it. To be fair, this is probably just a small slice of the action he sees on this strip normally.
“Hong Kong or Kowloon?” he asks flatly.
We get back to our Airbnb after a ridiculously inflated cab fare that we thought was because of our drama, but was actually just the toll to cross the bridge back into Kowloon. After some confused shouting between us and the taxi driver, Cece threw him his money and we got out before we could get into any more trouble. We made a pit stop at the 7-11 for snacks and more beer (of course) and relived our night in the safety of our room.
It was finally hitting us that we couldn’t carry on here the way we do at home, and how little we actually knew about the Hong Kong justice system. We also wondered whatever happened to the Irishman with the imaginary girlfriend. We figured our bouncer friends probably took care of him.
We tucked into our snacks and beer - and vowed to try not to get into any more scraps.
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