I started this at 4:25 AMPosted: May 19, 2009
I’m sure we’ve all experienced those nights where you go out, to a club, and no matter how much you drink, you don’t get drunk. Last night was one of those nights for me.
Clubs are funny things. They’re places where it’s given that you’ll get drunk to a silly degree, and dance like a loon. Indeed, it’s considered as abnormal if you don’t. I handed in my final essays for my degree course yesterday. I’m lucky enough not to have exams either, so this is it for me, really. My degree is effectively over. We had a send-off from one of our rather legendary lecturers, in the afternoon, and then a ‘drinks and nibbles’ session with a whole host of lecturers. The wine flowed, free of charge, and I drank and ate what little vegan food was on offer, and was generally in a merry way. I was also very flattered, as the rather legendary lecturer I have mentioned wore my hat for a bit, did a dance, and then signed it. I’m certainly never washing that hat again. Not that you can or should wash baseball caps. I couldn’t help but supress a profound feeling of elation, when I was sitting in the lecture theatre, listening to the send-off speeches. I have had an absolutely amazing three years, that I wouldn’t change for the world. I’ve changed so much as a person, and I’ve met many wonderful people, who I’m sure will become life-long friends. During those speeches, it was revealed that we’d each written around 64,000 words for our degrees, in total. That’s almost a PhD thesis, and made me feel, more than anything, that I had achieved something monumental.
Afterwards, we’d all previously decided to go out to a club to celebrate, which we did. I journeyed home, by way of the pub, made myself look a tiny bit more presentable and then headed out. I had been a little wobbly prior to the club, but the walk there sobered me up. I remained that way for the rest of the night. When I met up with my friends, and we finally got inside the club, so began the inevitable, alcohol-fuelled regression into mindless head bopping, body-popping and headbanging. That’s not to say that I don’t enjoy any of those things. On the contrary, I love it. I’ve had my share of experiences with ‘the bottle’ since coming to university, and it seemed that last night would have been a great opportunity to capitalise on my freedom and let my hair down. My hair was certainly let down, but alas, whatever I drank, I did not get drunk.
This might have been something to do with the two punches I received to my left eye. The first one was merely an accident; a misplaced elbow from a tall friend, but I think the second was malicious, while I was headbanging to Killing in the Name, an inevitable yet somewhat sad thing, on any night out. Because of my long hair (I have long hair. For those of you who didn’t know already: surprise!) the expectation is for me generally to headbang when any rock song comes on. Stereotypes are dangerous and awful things. I actually love headbanging, I just don’t like the fact that I’m stereotyped as a headbanging kind of guy. I’d like for there to be the option for me not to headbang, is all I’m saying.
For the rest of the night, I danced quite like a loon, and helped a couple of my friends, some lovely ladies on the lacrosse team, avoid the spurious advances of the more lecherous males present at the club. Most of it came down to the girls being either too shy, or too nice, to tell any lecherous males to simply go away, when they would approach them from behind, latch on to the hips of these girls, and begin gyrating. I think it’s horrible that some feel they can just be that domineering over a random woman, or indeed a random person, regardless of gender. I approached one of these lecherous males, who, off his face, insisted on picking up a poor girl who clearly didn’t want to be picked up by a doddering, drunken man. This man then fell over backwards, taking the lady he was carrying to the ground with him. He got up and tried to repeat this poorly thought out process. When I pulled the woman away, and told him that carrying anyone in his state was not a good idea, he said to me, “Mate, I’m going to fucking kill you,” to which I replied, “Mate, you can’t even see me.” I know he probably didn’t intend to be that aggressive, or rude to me, but it goes to show the male ego at full swing.
Anyhow, back to these lacrosse ladies. We went on to the dance floor, and they began to dance with each other. A group of men approached, and began attempting to dance with them, which resulted in some erksome dance routines from myself, to get them to the other side of the room. This continued for a while, until at least one of them decided she’d be quite happy ‘hooking up’ with one of the gentlemen who was pursuing her. With my job done, I exited to the beer garden, and had many amusing chats with my ‘wobbly’ friends.
As the night was drawing to a close, I began talking to a friend of mine off my course, whose housemate was in a very bad way. We were ushered outside, when the above incident took place, where I was threatened with death. As one of these ladies was in an extremely bad way, I decided to walk them home, pushing the housemate out of the way of traffic lights and bins all the way. We reached their house, and the housemate went inside to go to sleep. I sat outside, on the wall, with my friend, and we had an extremely long chat about all sorts of things, including the nature of life, whether or not there is a fate that governs us, future careers and so on. It was nice. We even encountered an extremely drunken fellow who passed us, asked us for directions, and sat down on the wall next to us. He was hilarious.
Eventually, the sky began turning a dark purple, and the time came to walk home. I’m not sure why, but for the rest of the morning, I felt very, very alone. I began thinking the way I usually do when I get drunk. I’m usually a quite outgoing, happy and optimistic person, but I fully admit to being a very boring drunk. The journey is very merry, but the destination is quite dire. When I’m drunk, I begin thinking about the world and all of its deficiencies and its shortcomings. For some reason, I can only think of all of the pain and hurt in the world, which makes me very sad indeed. Most drinkers will agree that when drinking, one reaches a certain point in their journey where they experience a moment of clarity. Maybe what I am describing is my moment of clarity. The only thing strange is that I believe I see the world more clearly then, than I could ever do when I’m sober. I think the only difference is that when I’m sober, I possess the drive to put on a happy face, and to try and make the world a genuinely better place.
Maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t get drunk, then.