Carla Jenkins: Vs the “Alpaca” Club

­­I am about to tell you a story.

It was a cold, rainy night. In a wine-fuelled haze, my friends and I decided that the pub would be the best way to begin and end our night. Donning our jackets, we crossed the cobbles to the hub of warmth, mirth, and good nights being had: Aikman’s cellar bar. Once inside, we settled ourselves in for a pleasant night. But fate was against us; the pleasant night was not meant to be.

Going outside for a breather, my friend and I sat on the stairs to the entrance as a large group of young men, suited and booted, walked towards us. Two pushed past us on entering, bumping into my friend wordlessly. As the next approached, we asked him what club he was from, and what the badge on his lapel meant. “I’m not telling you” he roared, before changing his reply to “the Alpaca club…this suit is Alpaca. Feel it.” When we returned our seats, the full “Alpaca” club were inside, sitting in the corner and milling by the bar, being loud and boisterous.

And then, before we could stop him, the Alpaca boy came and sat down between two of our group. A second later, another came over, who informed my friend that they had just ‘trashed’ the restaurant they were in before. However, as he gauged her increasingly horrified reaction to the antics he was depicting, he tried to backtrack and tell her that although she ‘looked like she knew what ‘hyperbole’ meant’ he ‘couldn’t be sure’ because ‘she was from Glasgow.’ I might add that this guy was Scottish – even if he had “lost” his accent – so he had really just insulted himself. Moreover, I later met the waitress who was working where they ate that evening, and she told me that they had actually just ‘sang quite loudly and ordered a lot of wine.’ Someone clearly misunderstood the message behind The Riot Club…

The group refused to leave us alone, resorting to sitting in silence while we spoke to each other; one even tried to provoke a fight (well, he actually just told my friend to hit him to ‘show him what he’s got.’ I don’t know if that’s a fight, really…)

Finally, when half of us decided to leave, they resorted to pouring beer on their beer-mats and throwing them at one of my friends, whom they hadn’t spoken to once that night.

I find this kind of conflict particularly startling when it happens between students – students who take the same exams, who work the same hours during the week and who have the same deadlines as the other students they attack. I don’t know what provoked those boys to approach us. Maybe it’s because of the group mentality of their night out. Maybe its because they see a woman’s time as a public commodity. Or maybe it’s because they were infuriated that we had dared to rebuff their advances, and decided to turn bitter and resentful in turn.

That night, the seedy underbelly of St. Andrews came swathed in crisp white shirts and ‘alpaca’ suits (does he know that he’s telling us his suit is made by an animal from the llama family?). In a pub full of normal people, having quiet drinks with their friends, these boys still felt entitled to treat us like we were nothing. They say that a few bad apples spoil the lot, and letting these bad apples infiltrate the ripe and sweet harmony of the rest of us truly spoiled our night.

2014 is not the time for ‘lad’ mentalities, or for sexism, misogyny and racism to be allowed.

Before you insult someone for being from Scotland, remember that you’re at university here (or maybe you’re actually from here too). Before you throw a beer-soaked mat at a pretty young woman, remember that it’s not going to make her want to sleep with you (but saying hi politely might). Before you call someone stupid, remember that they took the same steps to get here are you did, and you have no right to believe that you are better than them at all. And lastly, try not being a dick.

Stop trying to make lad culture happen…it’s not going to happen.