Today I did something I've never done before.
I met my friend at 10p.m. and we pretty much decided we couldn't catch a movie in time. Also, I was kinda broke. I had something to the amount of six dollars in change. And $4.24 in my account. I checked.
My friend is a great guy. He agreed to pick up the tab for the night. So we decided to check out some bars in Hull. Just the two of us. In Hull, the drinking limit is 18. Which was excellent for people in our situation.
It was cold out, but it was a good cold. The kind that gets into your face and lungs and feels fresh, not freezing.
The first bar was a little small, and the Eminem music boneshakingly loud. People never tell you how loud the music is when you're going into a club for the first time. It was a huge sound, like an aluminum knife sliding in your ears, lodged shuddering in the back of your brain, driving down your throat and hammering into the seat of your pants. I didn't quite understand how people could get any talking done. I suppose I'll get used to screaming into ears eventually. We got rum and coke, and decided to move on. We were mainly looking for a place with a free pool table. It's always fun, and my friends in Abu Dhabi were quite crazy about it, generally going out for pool every couple weeks since grade 7. Since there was a pool table (occupied) we left the Eminem club behind.
We went into another bar. This one had too many older people, and although there was also a pool table and there were a few younger girls around it, we decided to leave the Oldies bar too.
The next bar was interesting. I just stood there and watched my friend struggle with the door person, who was mostly French speaking, while he was mostly English. Maybe I should have stepped in. It would probably have saved him quite a bit of trouble and embarassment. Because, see, after a few moments of miscommunication, the door person saw the two of us and something must have clicked, because she finally told my friend what he wanted to know.
It was a gay bar.
We made a rather hasty exit.
We went into a couple clubs after that. They were right beside each other. At the first one I got a Smirnoff Ice. It's a cool name. The dance floor was looking pretty psychedelic. My friend suggested we go try some dancing, but I declined. I'm not much of a move-your-body person. He was kinda disappointed. My friend is pretty much the guy you'd see moshing hardest at a rock concert. That's just the kind of guy he is. In fact, his enthusiasm is infectious, and it's not long before he drags people into the thick of things with him. So we decided that he'd get his people, and I'd get my people, and we'd do this all over again. I agreed to some dancing when next we came. The second club had that 99 Balloons song playing by Nena or whoever when we walked in... it's a sentimental favorite, so that was cool.
On our way back, we stopped at the Kosmo. Another club. Except that by this time, I felt comfortable enough to try some dancing.
I want to get one thing straight. I usually make it a point not to dance. Usually. Of course, when the music's throbbing in your earbone and there's a half a hundred people around you doing it, it's easy to lose sight of a principle. And I love rythm. My resolution was pretty much dead the second I walked into that club.
I mean, everyone's doing it, right? Doesn't look that hard. Just vaguely wave arms, nod head and swing hips and you're there. But of course it's something else when you're packed in tight with the others on the dance floor.
We came out a little later than planned, but we still caught a bus. We got off at the Billings Bridge mall, and I was set for my half-hour walk back to university. He waited for a cab that came a few minutes later. Last I saw of him, he was running madly after the cab, which had turned in and stopped at a gas station. I walked alone on Bank Street. It felt like an abandoned festival. Like the world had frozen over. It was strange, walking on a shopping street and seeing all the storefronts dark and still. Do you ever notice how there isn't much of real silence left anymore? Wherever you go, there's always the hum of some machine, or the noise from a car or plane or building. Walking on that street at two in the morning was the closest thing to silence in a long time. There was only the thwap of my shoes hitting the sidewalk, and the rush of wind from an occasional car. And as I walked over a bridge, I could hear the hard dry crackle of breaking ice.
Oh, and I had fun acting like I was completely, totally wasted in front of my roommate when I got back. It wasn't too hard. My roomie was a great role model.