Portek to the Rescue (Episode 1)

So readers. On this scorcher of a Saturday afternoon it's time to shake the cobwebs out and participate in a little hypothetical. If you're feeling as seedy as me (yes, that's you Melbourne Grogbloggers) have a strong latte, a $7.50 big breakfast with extra avocado, a lemon and lime-ade from Glebe markets and 2 nurofen plus and come back and read this post.

PICTURE THIS:
Imagine you are a girl called K. You are in the Shanghai Park Hotel. It's 8:40pm local time andyou're probably getting herself preened and ready to go and boogie the night away to DJ Krush.

D is living in China and has travelled to Shanghai to meet with you, and probably partake in similar amounts of boogie-ing to similar turntablists.

For some reason, communications have broken down and you can't access D's number or can't get in contact with him to let him know where she is. Perhaps her phone has died, or D's mobile number is in her "other SIM".

What would you do if you were K?







*Thinking Music*







Probably something slightly different to what K did.

At this point we switch the story to Portek. Portek is, incidentally, nowhere near Shanghai, and is actually kicking back having a couple of pints in a Surry Hills licenced establishment. It's 11:40pm Eastern Summer Time and Portek may be a little inebriated.

Portek doesn't tend to answer "Private Number" calls when she's drunk, as they may be from debt collectors, tertiary institutions or stalker ex-boyfriends (none as colourful or anecdote-worthy as The Nerd Pin-up Girl of 2005's ex-boyfriends, but not people you want to have unsolicited phone conversations with whilst a little socially lubricated).

When "Private Number" starts to call for the second time, it dawns on Portek that debt collectors and tertiary institutions don't call at 11:40pm on a Friday and she was just relaxed enough, and surrounded by enough gorgeous, brawny and protective young men to face the stalkers.

There were no stalkers, just a frantic K. K was calling from her hotel phone and (given the astronomical call charges these swanky establishments charge) she was talking even more frantically fast than usual.

"Can you message D and tell him it's Room 920?" she asked, quickly followed by a, "gotta run, sorry, love your work!"

And so it camed to be that the Portek SMSed D in Shanghai with a "Hey bub, it's Room 920, have a great one" and (seconds later - as is the wonder of modern technology and far reaching telcos) he returned with "You're a darling" and, presumably, proceeded to the now fabled Room 920 to be united with the frantic and ingenious K.

I guess there's no longer such thing as being lost in a foreign country as long as you have a mobile with my number programmed into it.

Speaking of foreign countries, for those of you who are wondering, I will probably find out Tuesday and yes, I may be a little nervous and in need of good luck hugs at the moment.