I never thought I’d get spiked as a guy, but it happened to me

When Warwick student Jack (not his real name) went to a pub in Kenilworth with his friends, the night quickly spiralled out of control as he nearly got hit by a bus. He only realised that he got spiked the following day, because he didn’t possibly think it could happen to him as a guy.

This is his story.

For many guys, getting spiked is just something girls have to worry about. You never assume it will happen to you and you will always accept an offered drink.

I had listened to my girlfriend when she told me about the times she’d seen a nefarious someone slipping some kind of powder into another girls drink. Or the suspicious guys in nice suits and Amex cards, buying rounds of shots in London clubs, because when you’ve got too much money, bad ideas become good ideas, and you think that the law doesn’t apply.

At the University of Warwick,  few places are known to be more innocent than the neighbouring countryside village of Kenilworth. It is quiet, and tucked away from the evils of the world; the kind of place that you can visit on a Saturday afternoon. The quaint British pubs offer delicious food and great beer. It’s not the first place you’d think of as a bar crawl location, but as a first year, I didn’t know any better when I joined one on this particular Thursday night.

Many drunken freshers were shambling down the streets of Kenilworth and trying to see who could shout “fuck” the loudest. However, I had not been drinking heavily that night, two or three pints, no more than I would consume on an evening at the Terrace Bar and certainly not enough to make me regret it. We came into the final pub. It was much older, much more tucked away, with a smattering of patrons none of whom stood out at the time.

The smokers among us went outside for a cigarette, and I was approached by a well-dressed man asking for a lighter. This man I actually remember very little about. We had a chat, we went inside, he introduced to his friend the bartender and obviously the owner. They referred to each other with first names, the bartender rolled me a cigarette and we went out for another smoke. We came back in to see two whisky glasses on the bar.

My new found friend proffered some money and received no change. I couldn’t tell why I didn’t notice anything strange, I can only say that as a guy, an expensive glass of whisky from a man who seems to have some money on him, can only be seen as a friendly, matey gesture. I know I shouldn’t have taken the drink, I know I shouldn’t have followed suit and downed it, but I did.

It was at this moment, that I realised I’d fucked up. My memories of these events are hazy at best, but some of the gaps were filled in by my friends that night, who had been sitting there in utter perplexion as to why I’d spent a good hour talking to some stranger. However from what I can remember, he did ask me if I had a girlfriend, he did ask me why I’d been flirting with him, I remember telling him I wasn’t gay, and I remember him storming off at this point. This point being the one where all I could do was fit heavily on a couch and try to stay awake.

One could call it a lucky escape, and I’d have to agree, I don’t truly know what his intentions were that night, and I wouldn’t hasten to guess. All I do know is that following that incident, I staggered into the road, feeling far drunker than I had any right to be at this point, and almost got hit by a bus that I hadn’t even noticed was there. It became a long ride back to campus, collapsing in my girlfriend’s kitchen. I was talking gibberish, and kept lashing out, something I have never done before.

The morning after my vision was still blurred and my memory a black hole. I could remember him, the whisky, but not a lot else. My girlfriend was the one to suggest it, it never even crossed my mind that I could have been spiked. I was too embarrassed, as a guy to go to the doctor and check, to try and find the man but I can’t even remember his face now. I couldn’t believe that this sort of thing, would or could happen to me.

I was obviously wrong, I couldn’t have been more wrong. Guys do get spiked, and evidently in the most unlikely of places. If I’m honest, it just seems that it’s the same for everyone, a roll of the dice and not a lot else. I am definitely one of the lucky ones, who escaped with little more than a sore head and an aversion to Kenilworth, but it is always a wake-up call, and an unpleasant one at that.