It’s been a long night.
After 6 months of a university exchange in Mexico, I am at Mexico City airport to take my plane to Paris. It’s mid-morning, I haven’t slept the whole night and I’m still under the influence of MDMA and Mexican weed. Mexican weed is pretty strong… And so is the molly…
I spent my last night at el DF with a few friends I met there. A quiet evening at the start, just a few friends in the living room of Romain “El Che” who rents an apartment a few streets from mine in the Constituyentes neighborhood. He is nicknamed “El Che” because he looks more like a history student at the University of Nanterre than a law student from Assas and very often wears his red T-shirt – obviously – bearing the effigy of El Commandante.
So we are a bunch of cheerful chaps putting the world to rights around a few glasses of booze and discussing the experience we are going through, the open-mindedness it brings us, the stories we will remember for the rest of our lives, blah blah blah…
That is all well and good but too calm according to Matthew, who asks his dealer to kindly provide us with some grass and molly.
At that time of my life, I barely smoke weed, drink without too much excess and I’ve done cocaine a few times just because I’m in Mexico and it seemed appropriate to taste it there.
Therefore, the MDAM and its effects are foreign to me. Well, I’m not disappointed! This shit is very good! I feel particularly well, very relaxed, I feel like life is amazing, everything is beautiful and I want to kiss everyone.
Those who know molly get me, others just have to try.
I am having the best time for my last evening, full of joy, love and positive thoughts. Problem is, time flies under the effect of MDMA, very fast. I’m already late for my flight, I have to get a grip on myself, call a taxi, say goodbye and try not to forget my stuff.
When I get at the airport I’m almost dying. I’m starting to feel the fatigue, my body is exhausted, my jaw is tight, my gestures are slow, my reflection too, I’m struggling to keep my eyes open. But I cannot afford to miss my plane so I pull myself together, successfully pass through the security procedures and eventually get to the boarding gate after what seemed to be an endless journey. I’m finally there! Passengers begin boarding, I approach the queue and look up to the screen for a final check… Los Angeles. What do you mean Los Angeles?! I am not going to Los Angeles, I’m going to Paris! What the hell am I doing at a boarding gate for LA? They must have made a mistake, that’s not possible! Or maybe they just changed the gate number. I am sure I obediently followed the instructions. Unless…
I think I need a cup of coffee. I don’t usually drink coffee but I really need one now. I need to hydrate myself too, my throat is extremely dry. So I decide to buy myself a frozen Frappuccino from the Starbucks right behind me. I drool over watching the coffee boy preparing my drink. Watching the mix of ice cubes, coffee, milk, seeds and chocolate sauce in the blender is enough to make me feel happy. I can almost feel the cold liquid lining the walls of my esophagus and refreshing my dry throat.
But just while I’m paying my drink, an airport agent taps on my shoulder.
“Paris?! You’re going to Paris?!”, he asks me.
“Yes!” I answer, surprised by the misplaced curiosity of this complete stranger.
“But what are you doing here?! The boarding is closed, we’ve been calling your name! Come, follow me, hurry up!!”
Despite my exhaustion, I find myself involved in a frantic race to catch my flight. I pull one piece of a cabin luggage with my right hand, carry another one on my shoulder and hold my Frappuccino in my left hand. I’m dying to drink it but the guy goes faster and faster and keeps on telling me to hurry, I’m almost running behind him loaded like a mule with my throat totally dried out. This is a long way, endless … The right gate seems to be on the other side of the world, I’m living a nightmare!
When I finally get at destination, I tend my passport with my airplane ticket and jubilate to the idea of delighting this delicious and well-deserved drink.
“You cannot get into the airplane with this” says another agent while removing the Frappuccino from my hands.
These words fall like a sentence.
All my hopes, all my positive thoughts are flying away, I have the feeling that my life is ending and I no longer have any reason to live. I don’t even have the strength to struggle, to say anything, to explain that I just bought it, that I am thirsty or even ask why I could not enter the plane with a drink sold in the airport. After all it’s unheard of!
But I say nothing, I just spent all the physical and moral energy I had left running till the boarding gate. I just get into the plane, sad and demoralized on my way back to Paris.
As for how they managed to identify me at a Starbucks of Mexico City airport… This remains mystery!
