Stepping out of the house to board a taxi heading to a club is bad enough when it seems that everyone your age is intent on interrupting every evening of drinking with standing in a flashing loud room for several hours in order to swing your body about. However, when you realize that at the moment the cold evening air hits you, that you're also stone cold sober, another level of anxiety grips you.
It's like leaving the house and knowing you need a piss before the start of a long car journey, except now the piss is your impending boredom and the journey will be into the deepest depths of your patience. It's not so much fear or even annoyance that you feel, but simply just tedium to know that for the next several hours you will be bound by social courtesy, as well as your ongoing crippling inability to have fun or have the balls and self determination enough to actually do what you want with your life. And the worst part is that I had to pay for it. Five pounds. Not expensive but paying money to have a bad time is never satisfying. I may as well have thrown it down on the floor and stood staring at a wall for the next three hours for all the good the purchase gave me.
I was with strangers which made any attempts I made at complaining, obviously masking my complaints as an attempt at humour although inside I was genuinely annoyed, look just like complaining. I realised quickly I was being irritating and so fell quiet. I tried to talk to one of the other guests but all they could say was how great clubbing was, that I was weird and as soon as one particularly drunk girl informed me that “we just like to have fun and be crazy, it's how we like to live our lives”, then I knew I was really going to be locked in my own brain. I'm not particularly fond of my brain. It thinks horrible things about everyone it sees and constantly finds it necessary to remind me of how bored I am, how many better things there are to be doing at a time like this, as well as rendering a ticking cognitive clock somewhere in the back of my mind that ticks down every second of my remaining life that I've been impotently pressured into wasting away.
Luckily I find hating things is a viable past time and along with the previously mentioned dumb bitch who found it depressingly necessary to have to point out that her life was wild when it was anything but, as well as the needless series of twats wearing lumberjack shirts, which I guess is the style now, all of them trying desperately to get laid; there was a cesspool of hate engulfing me with distractions.
Truly it was a special night
We descended into the music below, where the drunken shouts grated my thoughts into a white hot dust of fury and blind irritation. The bass shook my guts and acted like some kind of techno brown noise which made me immediately need to shit, but having spotted the line to the toilets as well as the vomit and piss that laced the floors of the men's, I decided I'd simply hold it. I also optimistically hoped the potential bowel trauma the blockage could cause could get me out of here and into a much quieter evening spent in A&E.
I looked out onto a sea of dancing fucks, each group of them swaying in time to every shitty indie song which they bellowed the lyrics out to, while I remained in silence, not part of their world. Someone told me to smile, but I couldn't. I could only stand there staring off into space alone in my mind. They turned away from me to dance with the rest and I wanted to desperately explain to them why I couldn't smile and be happy, how my inability to dance, and my enjoyment of talking to other people and my incapability of letting myself go stopped me from looking in any way normal whilst having fun unless I was intoxicated and numb to my own worries. I just couldn't do it, but by then they had joined the rest of the group and were laughing and taking photos of each other at bad angles. I did meet someone else who I briefly complained to and he agreed saying he only came here to join in and blend in with his social group. I asked him if he wanted to go outside and away from there, but I don't think he heard me and in a way I'm glad he didn't because in retrospect my desperation for companionship at this point now sounds weird and creepy.
So I just stood around some more, sipping on the one Jack Daniels and coke that I could afford with my remaining money, unable to get another because the stupid piece of shit place didn't take cards, because a card machine was outside but you couldn't re-enter the club without paying for admission again and also because every drink in this place was worth its own weight in gold.
I decided at this point that I would look around the club and just people watch. What I found weird was there were a lot more bored looking people than I would have assumed. I spotted them sitting in silence on the seats around the club, sandwiched in between drunken couples making out, them staring so deeply back into themselves that they could barely notice me leering creepily in their direction. There were desperate men looking to get laid as was more expected. The group I was in was filled with lots of four foot, thin girls all completely off their tits drunk after two glasses of Pimms and it wasn't long before they came in to feast. They swung around the outer walls of our circle trying desperately to thrust their way in, as if they would burst in through the perimeter of people's backs and work their way right in to the vaginas protected on the other side. A lot of them gave up, some people lasted longer flowing through the membrane of the circle and out the other end surprised at how no one had immediately grabbed their dicks and just started blowing them along the journey. There were a few tall men who used their natural height to reach into the circle and just lean in like giraffes trying to eat the juicy vegetation from within the tangles of a thick bush.
From there my memory becomes hazy. I had people screaming Kids by Robbie Williams and Kylie Minogue on all sides of me. People were jumping up in the air and fist pumping the sky, knocking me left and right. I tried to leave for the smoking area but was asked to leave because I ran out of the one cigarette that I had managed to find and then smoke in my desperation to just get out of there, and apparently my lumbering around by myself made me look sinister enough to ask me back inside. Back inside where I could touch young girls in the dark and have their screams drowned out by Sex Is On Fire.
What I hate most about photographs is they can capture single moments of happiness that make it look like the participants are having fun.
You'll notice here that I am looking at no one, I am in fact just simply laughing madly at people in the distance.
Even if a picture tells a thousand words, it still needs a few more actual words to contextualise and explain it.
Finally I accepted my fate that I was completely trapped inside this temple of sexual frustration and forced fun. I leant calmly against a table and just watched. Across the walls were projected spinning discs of strange images that made no sense and were terrifying, but no one bothered to pay attention. The walls spun around with images of daisies and a busy street of cars. On the other wall there was a spinning disc full of dolphins which I watched religiously. As it span around I tried to count each sea creature in the picture, but by now I had become deliriously tired and bored. I kept counting eight dolphins, but sometimes on the next cycle there was seven and then from nowhere a turtle appeared in the centre of the disc but had vanished on the next revolution. I began to wonder if I in fact was a projection, the dolphins on the other side in an underwater club, drinking and having fun, staring into a revolving disc of my face lost in a crowd of arseholes spinning relentlessly in a dingy section of the ocean. Maybe one of the dolphins could look in and notice for a brief moment that I was moving around, trapped inside my hellish electro disc world, but upon being distracted by his friends and the fun he was enjoying, swam away and left me forgotten.
A man then reached into the group and grabbed a headband off my girlfriend's head. She likes dancing and had apologised for me coming along, so I stood behind her just thinking. Her head was patted and her headband stolen and I just watched like a sick fuck, unable to move because of boredom and not drunk or self confident enough to say anything to the man. I will never however be able to truly hate him. He annoyed a few of the party members and disturbed the isolated fun of the night and so gave me a window in which the immersion of there only being a club to exist in was sufficiently broken that I could inception the idea of getting the hell out.
After much hinting and a deflated sense of manhood at not protecting my lady, I finally got out into the night. I took a cab home and went to pick up a chicken burger on the way home. I went in for kebab but they didn't have any left. I ate the burger in silence and it was stringy and made me ill.
I slept well that night, not because I was a proud man, or because I had earned my freedom. I slept simply because I was free at all.
The moral of the story is clubbing sucks and people should stop forcing guests at their party to go and do it. I enjoy watching shitty films when I'm drunk, that doesn't mean at a house party I dim the lights, smack on The Room and force everyone to be quiet and watch.