Sleepover Club at the Union

A Night out or a Night’s kip?

Everyone at uni knows what being a fresher is like.

You make friends without knowing their names and create the most epic memories on your wild nights out. Having just flown the nest, with no parent to stalk your every move, you can be as crazy as you want… all in moderation of course. Let’s be realistic, everything gets a little bit out of hand, especially during freshers, as you scrabble to find friends for that week and try desperately to be cool.

Coming from a school which I had been at for thirteen years, I never really had to branch out and meet new people. I was always in my bubble with the people I had always known. So, when I was thrown into the uni environment, it was real shock to the system and I realised just how incapable I was at making pointless conversation and how awkward I could be. Seriously, I never realised it before!

During the two weeks of freshers, every night consisted of a punch party with weird games and lots of chatter. But the boring old studious version of me had just about tasted a drop of alcohol and didn’t have a clue about drinking games, except from taking fun shots of fizzy drink at school parties. That’s about as exciting as my teenage years got!

 

So, I began fresher’s week practically sober and absolutely hating it. I just couldn’t understand why everyone was finding it so easy when there was me, squashed into a corner, wondering whether this will be my lonely life for the next three years.

However, I’m sure you’ll be relived to hear that it wasn’t. It was coming to the end of the second week of freshers, and I was finally finding my feet when something clicked when I attended a certain social.

My wild side was unleashed.

I began drinking punch like water, with two cups in each hand, every cup I drank got more and more delicious.  I’m pretty sure I even had a few drinks before I even arrived at the social. Vodka shots was the drink of choice- though probably not a wise one.

I don’t know what came over me. Finally, it was time to walk to the club and I was still fine, loving life and walking in a straight line. I think. But as soon as I got into the Union, I started to feel strange, not sick but really tired and my body just felt limp. My friend sat me down on a chair in the club and ventured into the crowd to get me water.

As I was sitting, watching the world go by- slightly regretting my new-found madness- I felt like I couldn’t control my legs. I tried desperately to tuck them into the foot rest but failed, and my feet began involuntarily kicking anyone who walked past. As I sat there in my dream-like state, I began to feel sick and rushed to the toilet with fear of embarrassing myself in front of all these new people .

I ran into a cubical, locking the door behind me, but somehow slipped, landing on the floor with absolutely no energy or motivation to get up. I figured “guess this is my bed for the night” and fell asleep. I think I forgot where I was and just didn’t care about life anymore.

Occasionally, someone banged on the door to check if I was alright and I’d mumble something hoping they’d just leave me alone. But what really disturbed my slumber, was the girl who kicked me in the butt under the cubical door as a way of checking if I was alive.

That immediately made me jump up and re-evaluate my awful life decisions on a night where a new version of me was born.  But again, something inside of me was limp and lifeless and for a second time I fell to the floor and back into a dreamy sleep.  I haven’t got a clue about how long I was in there for but if I’m being totally honest, it felt like a lifetime.

When something in my dream finally prompted me to wake up, I washed my hands and left the toilets for good in a bid to stumble home and find my bed. During my very strange sleepover in the club toilets, my friend was frantically looking for me, and just as I was about to exit she caught me.

You can imagine the question which followed: “WHERE THE HELL WERE YOU?” Obviously, I had to tell her I fell asleep for a couple of hours, and as any good friend would, she ended her night out to take me home.

I think it’s safe to say I found out my limits after my traumatic event of kipping on the floor of the Union toilets, and I’ve realised that drinking gallons of punch was probably not the best idea. But realistically, the punch was irresistible and I’m forever looking forward to ending up in the same embarrassing state.

Next time, I’ll make sure to bring a blanket.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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