Day 2: Clubbing 101: What Not To Do

Our study abroad group consists of nine people. Of the nine, six of us decided that we wanted to go out to the clubs last night. In our head we were pumped to check out the crazy European club scene that you see in movies, and videos. I was ready for some smoke machines, lasers, and crazy people going absolutely wild to music that sounds like robots having sex on Adderall. Something kind of like this.

And so, here is my account of the events that transpired last night:

5:00pm – After asking around, we’re told that we should go to a club called Proud in Camden. Drinking age in London is 18, and some clubs are 21+, but because we have two kids under 21, we are limited to our club options, and Proud (an 18+ club) is apparently our best bet. We check out their website to see pics of the place. I am positive that a club called PROUD is going to be a gay bar – but it turns out it isn’t and looks pretty wild from some of the pictures. At this point I am stoked for a night of new and crazy experiences.

7:00pm – We go to the supermarket, and buy overpriced beer and liquor. I spend the equivalent of $40 on a 660ml bottle of the cheapest vodka and two 22.5 oz bottles of British beer. Despite the fact I’m being robbed shamelessly, I’m still excited and ready to cut loose with my flat mates for the first time and anxious to size up my new friends and see who’s going to be fun for the semester.

9:00pm – We begin drinking. I’m on DJ duty (of course) killing it on the 1’s and 2’s (my MacBook) selecting from the perfect balance of old classics and new hits. Everyone is the shit, lots of fun, and not afraid to have a good time. Life doesn’t get much better.

10:45pm – All purchased alcohol has disappeared. Time to go to the club to find more. But how do we get there? I don’t know look up how far it is. Two and a half miles you say? And you think we can walk there, and that it should take like 20 minutes because humans walk at a 1omph pace? I didn’t major in math, and don’t have a calculator, nor do I have time to hurt my brain doing dumb things like thinking, so yeah that seems logical. Let’s walk.

11:35pm – We arrive at the club. To get in, I have to get swiped with a metal detector to make sure I’m not carrying any weapons. I tell the bouncer he should swipe my feet, because they are dangerous on the dance floor. He doesn’t find my humor funny. Whatever, I’m going in there and starting a denim fire.

11:40pm – I realize that an 18+ club in Europe translates to a club full of only 18 year olds, and what has to be 16 year olds with fake ID’s. Apparently 21+ clubs exist so 22 year olds don’t have to feel like the creepy old guys. But hey I had fun in high school, why not re-live it?

11:41pm – I don’t want to re-live it nor do I want to dance with 18 year olds dressed like J Crew models. To me everyone around me looks like this. Where’s the bar? I need a drink, or ten.

12:30am – Drinks are super pricy, so I devise a genius plan with the other older girl in the group who is also turned off by the younger crowd as well to get free drinks. Basically she selects a random British guy and flirts with him, playing the role of the dumb American. It goes something like this: “How many beers can I get with 15 pence? It’s all I’ve got. What? None at all? I don’t understand how all this weird new money works, gosh! But I just broke up with my boyfriend, and am out celebrating and trying to get crazy! But how am I supposed to get two beers now without enough money 😦 ? I need one for me and one for my gay friend.” She points at me, and I smile and wave. My logic is that as a “gay friend,” I pose no threat to this guy and he may very well buy me a drink if it means him getting a shot with my friend. Then what happens next is the poor sucker buys us the two beers, she bails, and we repeat the process on someone new. Our genius plan works for her many times, and I only get a free drink out of it once, but I’m still happy with my marginal success.

1:30am – The bar begins kicking people out. Those in our group under 21 had a blast, some even got some phone numbers and I’m happy for them. Let’s walk back.

2:00am – We realize now that we were drunk when we left to go to the club, and some of the others are considerably drunker now than before. We have not the slightest clue how to get back. I wish I had my iPhone so Siri could give me directions and tell me everything is going to be all right, but everybody including myself now has these $2 piece of shit phones that can barely send a text let alone give directions. We decide to just guess a direction and walk, hoping we run into our flat. I have become marginally sober by this point.

2:30am – We have resorted to asking anyone and everyone we pass for directions. Everybody gives us different directions. The only thing they can agree on is that we are “really fucking far away.” Great, thanks for the help Govna’! Some of the girls are in heels and are complaining about the pain. All I want to do right now is head-butt my pillow and pass out.

2:55am – Everything around us is closed, and I haven’t seen another person for 15 minutes, except for some bums sleeping on the sidewalk. The thought creeps into my head that it could be hours until we find home.

3:00am – We spot a cab driver and wave him down, but he wont give us a ride because 6 is too many people, even though his car is big enough to fit 3 horses comfortably. But, “because he is a nice guy,” is willing to give us legitimate directions using his GPS. According to him, apparently we’ve been walking in the wrong direction, but not completely, and are only about 30 minutes away. Well thanks for the good news! What a bloke!

3:25am – We arrive home. Finally, after almost 2 hours of walking. Before going to bed I look at the itinerary given to us to see what the plan is for tomorrow… Oh sweet, I have to get up at 9am for a scheduled 3 HOUR WALKING TOUR OF LONDON.

I’m sure there are morals and lessons or irony or something to that story, but I’m too tired to try and figure them out.

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