A month into first year, a stranger put drugs in my drink at pre-drinks

Friday night at pre-drinks and ready to hit up Motion for the first time, what could possibly go wrong?

It was a month into my first year and the night seemed pretty standard, as I sat in the flat next door to mine drinking whatever wine was on offer in Co-Op. I looked around at my newly formed friendship group, plus a friend from my course – when you only have five contact hours a week these are like gold dust. There were a few people I didn’t know, but a couple of glasses in I sure felt like I did. I’d drunk about half a bottle of wine. The drinks were finished, the Uber was called and we headed out in our wavy garms.

I woke up in the morning with an ambulance note and no recollection of the night before.

Our little crew

Turns out that guy who I was sharing my Pinot with was not as charming as he seemed. I never saw him again, all I knew is he played sports but no one knew who he was. My flatmate had left me a note telling me to come find her – after I’d had a shower. Soaking wet, I sat in a state of shock as I had to listen to a girl I’d known for a month explain to me my actions the previous night.

I was told how I had arrived to the inevitably heaving queue for Motion, where I had proceeded to projectile vomit onto the girl in front of me, which for some reason had not gone down so well. Once my friends had persuaded her not to slap me, they realised my night was done. At this point, a couple of boys who lived on my floor managed to persuade a taxi driver to take us home despite how ill I was being. Thankfully, the boys came with me, forfeiting a £20 ticket.

Out of the taxi and onto the pavement. Obviously the concrete was a pleasant alternative to my bed, but my friends begged to differ. A couple of people who had stayed in that night were called, one of whom brought her new boyfriend – I’m sure I made a great first impression. Between them they hauled me to my bed, where I lost control of all bodily functions – the less said about that the better. When it became clear that I was in a state too bad for them to handle, paramedics were called. I hadn’t taken any drugs that night, and the paramedics said I’d been given too much of a recreational drug. They couldn’t tell what it was, and they didn’t test me. Instructions were given to shower me and I was stripped naked in front of people who barely knew me, while one observed and ate Rolos – an interesting choice. A few stressful hours later and I was asleep.

Maybe seeing me shit myself has bonded us?

The humiliation of being told this was completely overwhelming and I really struggled to face those who had helped me. After sending over a box of chocolates, three days later I felt ready to come out of my flat. Not remembering anything is truly scary, but I wished I could forget what I’d just heard. A year and a great deal of banter later, I can finally unashamedly talk to people about that time when I was spiked and shat myself – a common theme for when we play ‘Never Have I Ever’. Although spiking is no laughing matter, perhaps shitting everywhere is.

I don’t know why this stranger did it. Maybe they thought it was funny, I can’t imagine they wanted to do anything to me given what happened to me. Maybe he was trying to be a lad. This experience was enough to teach me you can’t trust people even in familiar environments, but even more so, the importance of looking after the people you’re with on a night out. I was lucky to have people who saw that I was safe, others are not so fortunate. A year later and I return to Motion excited and ready to help out those who need it. Our friendships have only grown over the course of first year and, on the bright side, as Daniel, a second-year history student, pointed out to me: “Now I’ve seen you shit yourself, we can definitely have anal.