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In March (of this year), I celebrated a personal achievement. As a writer, I had moved to Germany after penning three books in Canada and four additional ebooks in Belgium. In Berlin, I continued to release three more ebooks as part of a seven-volume series. This span of thirteen years saw momentous advancements, from my first book in Toronto to my latest in Berlin. Initially, I relied on Microsoft Word and a traditional publishing process for printed books, but eventually shifted to ebooks with global distribution. That enabled my titles to reach significant bookstores and libraries worldwide. However, producing paperback versions of my books would have amounted to over $23k per book. The profit margin as a self-publisher could have been better at that rate. $23k to edit, publish, and release a book.
In 2022, upon the release of my latest novel (at that time), the publishing landscape had undergone a dramatic shift. Independent authors now had access to a plethora of professional book editing software previously unavailable to them. Additionally, advancements in AI technology have made it more affordable to create high-quality book covers and graphic art. The most exhilarating development, however, was when my publishing company secured a distribution deal with a UK-based company, granting me the coveted opportunity to publish with Oxford Press. This new partnership opened up the possibility of worldwide availability for all of my titles in paperback, ebook, and audiobook formats, with the potential for future film adaptations. That was what warranted a celebration. That was also my first break in Europe.
I was excited! My company’s publications, officially registered in both the United States and the European Union and cataloged in the US Library of Congress and the Library and Archives of Canada, are now reaching a global audience through distribution in the United Kingdom while I am based in Germany. All I had to do was to present the manuscripts. With that in mind, I embarked on a mission to revamp and rework every title in my catalog, starting with my first three books, originally published in Canada but no longer in circulation due to the expenses involved in physically distributing them through the outdated system. From October 2023 to March 2024, I dedicated myself to producing Definitive Editions of these three titles. It was like a resurrection of my catalog, a new phase of my writing career.
After reaching that milestone, I managed to secure an event in London, UK, which I planned to attend before returning to work on revising and refining the remaining titles. My ultimate goal is to publish all eleven existing titles and two new ones by the end of this year. As a result, before setting off for my London event, I took a brief break to enjoy a night out. My plan was simple: I would take the train to Mitte while immersing myself in music through my headphones and then explore the city to find a charming bar or restaurant where I could indulge in a few cocktails and talk with someone about my new books. After spending nearly six months in isolation, this was the perfect opportunity to step out, soak in the sights of Berlin, and then retreat to my abode. It was as effortless as that.
The evening unfolded precisely as planned. My attire was relaxed, adorned with Jordan sneakers, my customary sunglasses, chain, watch, bracelet, and rings. I wore a New York Yankees baseball hat with my headphones in tow as I set out for the intended bar, only to find it closed. Undeterred, I opted for a neighboring establishment. Upon entering, I sat by the window, offering a picturesque view of the busy streets of Mitte filled with beautiful people going about their business. I ordered a Hennessey on the rocks. As I sipped my drink, I indulged in my headphones, streaming music from both Spotify and Apple Music while perusing social media updates and tuning into various podcasts on YouTube. In total, I had four Hennessey on the rocks. The bill was under 40 euros, which shows how little I consumed that night.
An intense heaviness overcame me in my attempt to leave. My hands trembled, my speech slurred, and I was off balance. That was unexpected, as it usually takes much more for me to feel so disoriented. I was so out of it that I couldn’t even determine the way back to the train station, which was only a few blocks away. Fortunately, I could order an Uber and make it home safely. It was supposed to be a celebratory night, while my lovely lady prepared a delicious meal for my return. However, when I called to inform her that I believed I had been drugged, her worry for my well-being overshadowed the celebration mode. What’s even crazier is that the Uber driver became irritated when I didn’t fall asleep during the ride. My former street smarts kicked in as a second nature while I was totally knocked off my game.
Upon arrival (at my home), the driver lingered to shame me to my lady (a sight for sore eyes), who was highly concerned about my condition. It was as if he was establishing a rapport with her and somehow turning her mind against me, which was out of place for a taxi driver. Was that his punishment for me not falling asleep so they could rob me on the way home? That event caused me to reflect on two other instances where I went out in different cities (outside of Germany), had a few drinks, and ended up feeling much more intoxicated. It seems that there is a trend of American men getting drugged through their alcohol for robbery. Being alone for the entire night in Mitte, I suspect the bartender spiked me. I see it as a diss. Somehow, our presence seems to rub people the wrong way.
They see an American and decide to drug, rob, or scam him somehow. It’s highly disrespectful. I will never forget the night I entered that restaurant/bar in Berlin. The air was thick with anticipation. The dim lighting created a charming atmosphere, drawing me in like a moth to a flame. I ordered my drink and took a sip, savoring the rich, velvety taste on my tongue. But as the night went on, something felt off. My limbs felt heavy, and my mind was foggy. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. It wasn’t until I woke up the following day without recollecting how I got home that my suspicions became a chilling reality. I had been drugged. My heart raced as I tried to piece together the night’s events, but it was blurry. I can’t prove it, but I know deep in my gut that it happened.
The thought of someone slipping something into my drink makes my blood boil. I do not leave an open drink and return to drink it. You would have to be determined to spike my drink. I refuse to name the bar or make a formal accusation, but I can’t help but wonder who else has fallen victim to these sinister tactics. What truly haunts me are the questions that linger. Who did this to me? Why? And, most importantly, how can I protect myself and others from falling prey to this treacherous trap again? That night, I learned a valuable lesson: not everything is as it seems. The characters we encounter often have hidden agendas. It’s not enough to stay vigilant and trust our instincts. One can never be too careful in a city like Berlin. The bustling streets pulse with excitement while danger lurks in the shadows.
