How I Met Your Drug Dealer

by Alex in Europe, Topdeck

Alright, gather round, kiddies! It's story time! Today, uncle Alex is going to be telling you the story of how he almost got knifed by a random drug dealer while on a pub crawl in Krakow, Poland.

At first, we were having a lovely evening - exploring the heart of Krakow with our friends Ally, Jona, Car and Carlos, having hot chocolates in funky underground cafes, and eating giant sausages for dinner - juvenile innuendo included, naturally. And then the pub crawl itself started.

We don't have any pictures from that night, so instead this article will be accompanied by photos of Krakow that your mother would approve of.

It's important to know that we weren't the only people from our tour on this crawl. In fact, most of our tour group were there - but in particular there were 3 boys. For the sake of their dignity, I won't use their real names here. Let's just call them Tom, Dick and Harry. Hmm... no, let's call them Larry, Curly and Moe. Actually, no, scratch that - let's call them Harpo, Groucho and Chico.

(Okay, there was actually one more. But since our fourth Marx brother (Zeppo?) went a little overboard, tried to hit on a toilet cubicle, got a concussion headbutting Harpo and ended up being sent home in a taxi covered in his own pee - all before we left the first pub - he doesn't really feature in this story.)

All of us were having a good time to start off with - a free drink here, a shot there, nothing too much. But then, something changed. After Harpo and Zeppo's big headbutt incident, there was a silent agreement within our little group: Someone was going to have to stay sober and keep an eye on the Marx Bros.

I volunteered. I'd had the least to drink, Tash and I don't really drink much anyway, and being the only (sober) male in the group, I was best-equipped to manhandle them out of the bar and into a taxi if something did go wrong.

Thankfully, nothing did... until we were on our way from the second pub to the third. We were following our guide when we noticed that Groucho was missing. I rolled my eyes and sighed - he'd probably gotten lost and was trying to pee on a police car. I told the rest of the group to go on, and catch up to them.

Muttering under my breath, I turned back. Luckily, Groucho wasn't far away. He was off to one side, having an animated discussion with a new friend that he'd made (as drunk young men are wont to do) and a mysterious man I hadn't seen before. I came up to Groucho and his new friends, ready to point out to Groucho that the group had left him in the dust.

...which was when I saw the small bundle of cash in his friend's hand, and the lightbulb in my head went off. Somewhere along the way, Groucho's new mate had decided that a night out just isn't complete without some... stimulating substances, and the two of them had gone off to find someone who would sell him some.

From what little English I could grasp in between heated Polish, apparently Groucho's friend and the purveyor of stimulating substances were having a loud and decidedly unfriendly disagreement over price. Groucho was staring blankly at his friend, the dealer was staring eagerly at the wad of cash, the friend was staring longingly at the bundle of cocaine in the dealer's hand, and I was staring at the huge freaking knife in his other hand. As they talked, the dealer started gesturing more and more wildly, aggressively waving the knife around to make a not-at-all-subtle point.

Maybe they came to an agreement. Maybe they didn't. To be honest, I couldn't tell you - I was too busy staring at the knife, even as I grabbed Groucho in a firm headlock and ran the hell out of dodge.

It wasn't easy. Finding your way around the streets of a new city is hard. Doing it at night is even harder. When the city is as old and the streets as labyrinthine as Krakow, and you're dragging a grown-ass man by his neck as fast as you can? Forget it. Not that Groucho himself seemed to mind that much. I think by the angels smiled upon me and we had somehow gotten to the club, he'd completely forgotten both of them. And don't worry, I did see the other guy later that night - looking distinctly unhappy and un-stimulated, but also un-stabbed.

Finally, after getting Groucho into the club and down the stairs (an almost Herculean feat on its own!), I was able to rejoin Tash and our friends, who were sitting off to one side of the dance floor. "What's did I miss?" I asked. "You'll never believe what happened," Jona replied. "On the way here, someone almost threw up on Tash's shoes! Can you believe that?" I grinned. "Alright, gather around, kiddies!" I said. "It's story time!"

Incidentally, our stop in Krakow, and consequently this post, were sponsored by my mum, Lyn, who you may remember from our Irish road trip, and who will be making an appearance in this blog again soon. Mum, I know you were probably wanting the stories of us exploring the medieval marketplace, and walking through the Jewish Quarter, and visiting Oskar Schindler's factory - everything that happened in the photos. But instead, you got this story. Are you proud of me?

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This weeks post is sponsored by Lyn Thompson.
Hope you liked the post. Thanks for reading!