About 2.3Mil rupiahs was added to my hotel’s bill for “damages” that I paid for, cash, in Indonesian $krillz. Compensations for room reparations of a gazillion memories worth more than those indomillions. Never have I ever felt so confident to cop a bill containing so many zeros. But in Southeast Asia one can live like a “king” when holding even the least American green and with stacks of greenbacks imperialists can wreck shop in these metric barhops. I play tourist amidst the conformists in a city so polluted with beauty. My elated heart throbs asphyxiated by gorgeous mobs of hijabs that cover like a dense smog-like fog. With a dropped jaw and breath robbed, I’m stuck standing and waving to them saying “As-salāmu ʿalaykum :)”
Gallivanting open and loud through conservatively
quiet Indonesian towns, I stand out, I’m seen and unbeknownst to me my ethnic
ambiguity would lure those pursuing to savour a foreign {bule} flavour. With
GoogleTranslate as my saviour I begin to mingle with local singles carrying
unbelievably distinct and palatably spicy conversations; some lead to my
hotel’s damages and accusations. Though those claims made have only one culprit
to blame; the good times, now memories, shared strictly between my {*uhmmm*} “Tour
Guides” and I. Be judge free and trust me that only if a connection was made,
would I invite these lovely dames into my temporary sanctuary. But, when you mix
loose alcohol abuse and the use of Allah’s name in vein, that safe haven loses
its reign. Only after a consensual erotic wrestle may sovereignty be handed to
the last one standing or limping.
So, at the end of my Indonesian holiday the front desk clerk says with a smirk, “I see you have enjoyed your stay.” I giggle and he then strikes me hard with the bill and comments, “Sir, we require some reimbursements.” I solemnly say, “Ok, let me have it, what’s the damage?” He then holds up a tablet with images of the aftermath from what looked like a contained tsunami. He swipes through forensic scenes of debauchery and reads off a list “2,280,000 rupiahs, for the broken coffee table, the chair and sofa that was dowsed in squirt soda, bed sheets with no fix from spilt bloody mary mix, emotional distress caused to the neighboring guests.” I stop him from finishing off my list of sins and blurt out “Ok, ok. Let me just pay, so I can be on my way.”
“And will this be charged to your card?” He questions my payment.
I stare at him smiling and say “Nah, Is cash okay?”
Dissect the Dialect 