Would you ever brave Med… sober?

Going to any club completely sober would be a surreal and uncomfortable experience, and definitely not something you’d normally do.

But last Friday, I dared to do something that has probably never been done before. It was an experience you wouldn’t wish on even your worst enemy – I went to Med without a single drop of alcohol.

The queue into Med feels like it takes hours when you’re stone cold sober, and when I finally got to the door it seemed the bouncers searched my bag for alcohol far more than they did anyone else. Does my resting face make me look like I’m completely off my face? Maybe my completely expressionless gaze made me look drugged up. Should I have be offended?

Once in Med, the first stop is undoubtedly the bar. Never have I received such a confused look as when I asked the girl at the bar for a Diet Coke. She either thought I was going to sneakily drop in a bit of spirit from my hipflask in the bathroom, or that I’m a recovering alcoholic. Or, they probably just don’t get asked for an alcohol-less drink very often.

By this point the physical and mental state of most people around me is deteriorating pretty rapidly, but I’m still totally fine, just a little tired and thinking of my warm, cosy, comfortable, soft bed.

It’s safe to say everyone in Med is pretty “friendly”, but unfortunately having strangers come up to you talking complete drunken nonsense is far less appealing when you’re sober. The best thing to do was to steer clear of everyone I didn’t know and avoid eye contact at all costs.

You never truly notice how smashed some people are when you’re half cut yourself. But on this specific night, being sober, I could really tell who was totally out of it. Which was pretty much everyone in the entire club.

Think it’s obvious which one of us isn’t sober

Drunken people really seem to love house music, but if you’re in a normal state of mind house music just isn’t the one. It’s impossible to dance to without feeling ridiculously self-concious, so when I was in either of the house music rooms, I was having a pretty awful time.

This left me with only one option other than throwing in the towel and going home – retreating to the cheesy music dancefloor. I was safe here. I can sing to Peter Andre’s “Mysterious Girl” and nail every single word without alcohol. That’s real music. I don’t even need to drink alcohol to do the Macarena. People might not even notice I’m sober if I just dance along. It was time to blend in.

Just when things are going well and “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” starts to play, a drunken friend starts attempting to run out of the club and to the other side of town. Of course, being the only one in a decent state of mind I am left to pick up the pieces. Goodbye Cyndi Lauper, it would’ve been fun.

The type of person I had to look after, and this is only pres

The worst part of being the only one not drinking on a night out is that there seems to be an unspoken rule you are expected to look after anyone who is a total wreck. This means keeping everyone under the influence of alcohol out of danger: whether that be preventing anyone from running out of the door alone, or consoling any crying girls in the toilet – even if you don’t know them. This was basically the rest of my entire night.

After a few hours of enduring the pain and babysitting those around me, it was finally 4am – an acceptable time to leave. I rounded up the troops and with a drunken mess on either shoulder, swiftly left the club through the exit where a pungent smell of vomit lingered.

It was an experience I do not intend to repeat.