Skip to content

Bad Moon Rising

June 24, 2011

The following things I am about to share with you may make you judge me. But all this needs to be shared for you to understand what happened to me next.

I’m not a party animal, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love a good party. I found the perfect club two underground journeys away, in what seemed to be the party central of London. As soon as I walked out of the underground station into the rabid streets of wild party creatures, I knew I was in for a good night. After all, it was Friday, everyone here, or most people anyway, were finishing the two hour drinking session that follows a hard day of work. I walked through the crowd, as busy as it had been earlier in the morning when I got into London. Pushed left, pushed right. But I had learnt from my mistakes, so I pushed forward, making my way through the crowds of semi drunken people (its only 10pm), to find a spot that called my name.

‘Indi…. Indi….’

I found it. A busy club that just called me, wrapped me in its arms and offered me protection from the evil, boring outside world. Promised me happiness and blissful music that would make my feet move on their own. Indeed my feet were moving on my own, towards this club. It was as if the full moon glowed over it, highlighting it as the route to heaven. Unfortunately, it seemed the club was not calling out just my name. Nearly half of London wanted in and the line was so long, I was sure I’d still be here tomorrow waiting for an entrance. However, I was wrong, the line seemed to be moving quickly, mostly because of the no nonsense bouncers who refused entry to pretty much half the queue. From what I could gather with the voices around me, I was attempting entry into an exclusive club that rarely anyone but the important people got entry into. What made it worse, I was on my own, my shame would be mine and mine alone, but that didn’t mean I was going to walk away and let fear take me. Hell no! My name is not INDEPENDANT for no reason!

So as the queue brought me closer and closer to my destination, I went over and over in my head the possible scenarios that would grant me entrance. I decided to play on my skin colour. When the bouncer asked for my ID, I handed it over, playing it cool and looking around as I waited for him to pull aside the royal rope. “Sorry, not tonight young lady. Take yourself somewhere else.” I looked at him. A look of hurt, pain and anger all in one. Throwing my hands in the air I screamed. “RACIST!” He looked perplexed and I refused to move. “It’s because of the colour of my skin isn’t it!” (I might want to add in here  that the bouncer was also Asian.) I continued with my charade feeling guilty every minute of it. Hey I wanted in. I know you would have done it too. Eventually, as a scene surrounded us, he quickly pulled back the rope and handed me my ID. “Thank you.” I smirked and walked in.

It was dark, and beautiful. Amazingly decorated with such chic. I knew this was where I wanted to be. Walking over to the bar, feeling smug yet guilty with myself, I decided I would get a drink. It was just going to be a lemonade for me. A £7.00 lemonade. No wonder this club was exclusive! Being ladylike, I sipped my drink through a straw as I walked around the club, getting a feel for the music (a Beyonce remix pumping the sound system). Once I finished my drink, I left the empty glass on a deserted table and decided to bury myself in the middle of the already crowded dance floor and party like it was 2012.

I couldn’t tell you how long I was dancing for, but I knew I was thirsty as I pushed my way through the crowd to sit at a deserted bar table. “Can I buy you a drink?” This smooth, cool voice sounded in my ear, making me turn in my seat. I smirked. I could do nothing else. Before I knew it, I was telling him I wanted a tequila…. a tequila? Now I don’t drink alcohol. Never have. My parents brought me up to hate it. But I was on my own. I needed to let loose a little if I was going to enjoy myself. Tequila seemed to be the first thing that came to mind. I don’t why as my friends had never been fans. To first time drinkers, I wouldn’t recommend it.

Mr Smooth came back with the drinks and handed over my… tequila. It wasn’t pleasant, but he had brought it and I didn’t want to seem rude. He sat down opposite me, making it difficult for me to contain a straight face while I drank this vile drink. Introducing himself, I let him talk while I listened, all the while trying to use the ice to get rid of the horrid taste in my mouth. I can’t really remember much that we spoke about, but when a Pitbull song came on, he pulled me to dance with him. No invitation, just a grab of my arms and a ‘I love this song’. I dance with him, thinking it was great to have someone to dance with (meaning this flirting with him was awesome).

The song finished and Mr Smooth walked off saying something I couldn’t over the loud music. So I went to sit on the table for another rest. At this point, I was feeling weird. But then a glass of tequila landed on the table in front of me, courtesy of Mr Smooth, who also resumed his seat. Great, another round of this vile liquid. After that I don’t recall anything till the next morning

Now I know what your thinking: Why did she drink it? Why didn’t she just walk away? She is such a lightweight! I’ll tell you the answer. I honestly don’t know what I was thinking. Maybe I felt I needed to impress. God knows. All I know for sure is I hate the taste of tequila! And I can’t believe I let it get to this point.

The next morning, when I woke up, I had the headache only the devil himself could conjure. I struggled to open my eyes and when I did, I couldn’t see a thing. My hands felt my head to make sure I was still intact, though the pounding in my brains were probably proof enough. As far as I was aware, I only had two drinks that night. This was embarrassing. But not as much so as when I started to see clearly and looked next to me. In the bed was none other than Mr Smooth. And Mr Smooth was Mr Bare All! If you could have seen how fast I jolted out of that bed, you would have entered me for the Olympics 100 meter race.

Shame could not describe the feeling running through me as I threw on my clothes and ran from the apartment building. The whole way back to my hotel, I felt ashamed. Luckily, I hadn’t lost anything that night, well…. anything but myself, so as soon as the cab pulled up in front of my hotel, I already had the money out so I could get out as soon as possible. “Keep the change” I handed him a few notes, not counting how many and ran up the steps.

“Good Morning.” Porter Boy smiled as he held the door open for me, and my face returned the smile unwillingly. He must have noticed because I felt his eyes following me and when I turned around in the elevator, he was still looking at me with his smile gone. By the time I reached my floor, I had resolved in the self motivational act of not letting my previous nights actions get to me. I headed straight for the shower and cleaned myself up.

So I had one crazy night, my first night in a city. My first night drinking and my first night sleeping with a complete stranger who I would hopefully never see again. After I showered and cleaned  myself up. I felt a whole damn better about myself. I called my mom, told her about my adventurous night (of course I missed out the part where I got drunk and slept with this random guy. Like I would tell her that!), before I headed out of my apartment again. It was 11am round abouts so I needed to get some breakfast before this headache made me too incapable.

Two ibuprofens later, I felt chipper as I walked down the three flights of stairs. Porter Boy was still at the door, helping an elderly couple with two small suitcases. I smiled and waved at him, noticing a look of relief as he waved back. I headed into Central London to enjoy a coffee break and maybe some shopping. After all, I wanted to impress at work on Monday so I needed to look good…

2 Comments leave one →
  1. Ellie permalink
    June 25, 2011 10:13 pm

    I can’t wait to see what you get up too next!
    Does Mr Smooth come back into the picture?

  2. June 24, 2011 9:55 am

    I like the humour you added to this blog 🙂 Wonder if she meets Mr Smooth again, haha interesting! Wanting to read more…

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: