Do I write a memoir or a rant?
This is the question I ask myself most days, though it results in me writing neither.
So let’s begin… with a monumental story. My first clubbing experience.
Cancun, 2011. After multiple family holidays I decided from the age of eighteen I wouldn’t go on another family holiday – as I could travel without consent – and I know I come across as an arse, but the arguments and controlling schedules are things I go on holiday to get away from. So Cancun was the decided destination for our final family holiday. How crazy could a family holiday get? Well, there was this one night…
I was actually seventeen whilst on holiday, so not so new to alcohol and drugs, however completely naive to bars and clubs. I became friends with the hotel’s entertainers and it was one of those who invited me to join the clubbing minibus – basically a shuttle bus to the clubbing strip.
The minibus awaited and I made my way to my first experience clubbing, dressed in my best pink Ralph Lauren polo and shorts. Initially entering the bus there were already four gorgeous Scottish girls, being social I joined them at the back of the bus. The conversation went a little like this:
“Yeah, I’m actually only seventeen, so I hope I don’t have any issues tonight!”
“Oh, just a baby, we’ll look after you!”
Obviously, at this point, I’m playing it cool (I think) but inside… inside I was absolutely shitting myself, whilst obtaining one of the biggest boners of my life. A pure mixture of anxiety and excitement. Then around ten hot Mexican chicks got on. It was fair to say I was in Disney. Fast forward to the club – which happened to be a pool party, so you know what that means. This is all true by the way, absolutely no need for any exaggeration.
We’re shown our tables, selected our unlimited mixers and the night truly begins. Obviously well out of my depth, I’m just standing there pretty lame, though the girls must have thought it time to start looking after me, whilst unaware pushed me in the pool. They jump in too, and one requests to wear my polo, which I accept and provide. Quite frankly I’m having the time of my life.
Now if you haven’t visited Cancun, the locals depend heavily on tips, in fact, they expect it, though as we had already tipped the table service several times already, we refused, ultimately getting us kicked out.
At least that’s what I remember the reason being, but hey I was young, dumb and naive.
At this point, I’m drunk, but still very wary, especially when the girls started sitting and taking pictures on a random motorbike.
We survived, without trouble and arrived at another club. Rightly so, I was refused entry due to not wearing a top. Now, the girl who “borrowed” my polo was originally wearing a boob tube, therefore no bra and agreeably refused to swap tops outside the club, but agreed to do so in the toilet, which meant only one thing…
I had to temporarily wear the boob tube.
I’ve forgotten to explain that she had rather large boobs, not to mention I was a super skinny twerp back then, so I’m literally standing there, looking up the bouncer, cross-armed holding this boob-tube up to my armpits.
The night, however, did not end there, well it felt like it was time to finish on the night, so we left the club in search for some drunk food.
Bizarrely we bumped into two American lads who were staying the same hotel as us.
Coincidentally they were on the same mission and suggested a local taco restaurant. Again another new experience for me, and intoxicated, the waiter brought sauces over on a tray for me to select one, but what did I do?
I dipped my tacos into the sauces whilst they were on the tray that the waiter was still holding. I genuinely couldn’t work out why everyone was laughing at the time.
It’s incredibly strange to think that although I am friends with them on Facebook, I don’t speak to anyone mentioned in the story anymore.
They were strangers at the time, and they are still very much strangers to me, yet I have so much to thank for such a memorable experience.