My Best Drunk Story, part 6

After a week plus of telling this story, if anyone is reading, you must be ready for the end.  Plus, I have to wrap it up.  We'll be back from China in about another week after you read this! 

After I realized I had not actually murdered anyone the night before, I decided I'd go get something to eat and make my way to my brother's hotel. 

I got dressed and grabbed my stuff.

No umbrella, no coat, no camera. 

But more alarmingly, no money, no credit card.

And most frightening of all... no passport.

OMG.  What had happened?  And more importantly, what was I going to do?

I looked in my guidebook and found out that there was an American Consulate in Poznan.  I decided that they might be closing early since it was Saturday, so I hustled there.  On foot, you know, since I didn't have any money for a taxi or a bus.  But trying desperately to be there before noon. 

Success!  I got to the Consulate at about 11:45. 

Unfortunately, the Consulate was indeed closed.  The noon closing time was solely a figment of my imagination, or maybe aspiration. 

I cried and cried to the guard.  He eventually told me that if my passport was lost or stolen, I would have to go to the embassy in Warsawa to get a new one.  And he advised that the next day they would be open was Tuesday, because Monday was a holiday (Columbus Day, as it turns out). 

I had no idea what I was going to do.  I had no idea how I would travel to Warsawa without a passport.  I had no idea how long it would take to get a new one.  I had no idea if I'd make it back to the US on time.  I felt like I was up a creek without a paddle. 

I was hungry, thirsty and broke.  So scared of being stopped and not being able to produce identification.

I walked toward my brother's hotel.  I got there, and his roommate was awake, but my brother was dead to the world.  We hung out talking for a while.  Well, not so much talking, as I was crying and he was trying to sound sympathetic. 

Finally my brother woke up and I told him what had happened.  Of course being his sweet self, he said not to worry about the "being broke" thing.  He'd loan me money for the rest of the trip.  But of course he had no helpful advice on how to get an expedited passport that day since the embassy was going to be closed for the next several days. 

Eventually, my brother and his roommate got dressed.  We decided we'd walk back toward the dance club to see if I could get my coat and my camera back.  My brother told me what had happened to the umbrella, which I then vaguely remembered, so that was gone for good. 

At the dance club, we were able to get my coat, but the camera was no where to be found.  And the coat pockets were empty, so even though I hadn't been hoping the passport and credit card would be there, there may have still been some tiny sliver of hope.  It was now fully extinguished.

We walked on in search of food. 

We ordered some pastries and my brother paid for my breakfast.  His roommate also ordered and went to pay for his.  He reached into the pocket of his jeans, and surprise... he pulled out my passport.  Along with his passport, his money, my credit card, and my money. 

We talked about it for some time, but neither of us had any clue how he'd ended up with all of that stuff.  But I literally cried with relief.

It was all okay.  And that is why the night ends up as my best drunk story, and not the worst drunken disaster of my life... 

Good times, good times.