Incoherent Scribblings

The Hookah Pipe

I went out for Friday night drinks with some of the people that I have met since moving to West Texas Town last night.

When I got to the bar and sat down at our table the first thing I noticed was a very pretty vase-like object. Because I am not as innocent as I look, the first thing I thought was, “Oh my god, there is a bong on our table!” However, because I am also cool, I did not show any hint of surprise on my face.

As I joined in on the conversation I learned that the “vase” was a hookah pipe that one of the members of my party (we’ll call him M.) had received as a gift from a Turkish friend on a recent trip to Turkey.

M. had brought the pipe to the bar to show off and share. First he showed us the tobacco he had: It was thick, gooey with resin, and smelled faintly of cappuccino. Next he finished assembling the pipe and then there was much discussion at the table deciding who would and who would not participate in the smoking of the pipe.

Looking at the situation from a strictly academic point of view, I agreed that I would partake in the smoking of the hookah pipe. It was a smooth smoke that smelled quite nice. I learned that the scent of cappuccino that I had detected earlier was a flavoring, so it actually tasted pretty good too.

Since I have lived abroad and actually been to a few places where a hookah pipe was being smoked, I soon offered my opinion concerning what we were doing right and what we were doing wrong. Consequently, M. and I then engaged in a lively discussion of the proper way in which to smoke from the pipe. I am not really sure if we smoked as we might have in Turkey, but I must say our little group was very popular amongst the other guests at the bar.

I heard the words “hookah pipe” whispered more than once on my way to and from the bathroom and a few brave souls actually came to see what the fuss was about. M. was very nice to them all and even shared with the drunk girl that yelled “Is that a hookah bong?” so loud that I am sure she was heard down the street.

Finally, with drinks and tobacco both in need of a refill, we called it a night. I had no hangover this morning and my throat is not scratchy, but I can still catch the faint scent of the hookah pipe in my laundry basket now and again.