Youthful Shitty Situations


So I’m nearly 30. Sucks to be me. Although ‘they’ say (‘they’ being a mythical creature made up by scientists… probably… to make losers feel better about themselves) that life starts at 30. They also say life starts at 40 so this statement is already flawed but stay with me! As I look back over the wondrous years of my youth I not only smile and cringe and cry in equal measures, but I also find myself gasping over the insanely risky often scary shiz I put myself through. When I indulge in stories of ‘that one time I was hideously drunk’ we all know that the ending maybe humorous coupled with a fresh bout of self-loathing… but also straight up dangerous. Why did/do we do stupid shit? For ‘a laugh’… for the attention… because we didn’t know any better… or all of the above?!

When I was younger living in my home town in Buckinghamshire, I could be found most nights after a stint in the local bars, simply walking home in the wee hours of the morning… on my own. Granted I may have had a drink or two so I would be wearing my cloak of invincibility, but for the love of God… a lonely female wandering down pitch black lanes and ‘short cuts’ which ran past a canal just screams all kinds of murder, rape, kill!! Paying for a taxi is obviously out of the question and highly ridiculous, as you’ve just spent your last fiver on a kebab. So off you go stumbling through the valley of death. Hash tag dickhead.

And now raise your hand for all those who have taken a solo ride in an illegal cab?! Yeah I see you little daredevil at the back! Living in London this was always the case. More often than not I would lose my friends and just wanna go home. There’s only so much Britney and Scissor Sisters I could dance like a cheap hooker to! So off I trundled hopping into the nearest ‘taxi’ just before I say out loud ‘please don’t rape me.’ Yeah sure… because by checking your taxi man will not sexually abuse you is a legally binding contract to ensure your safe passage to your front door. FAIL. I have heard far too many horrific stories of young girls being attacked whilst in illegal taxis and some fully certified cabs… and it’s no laughing game. But again the mixture of booze and naivety encourage you to make insane decisions.

*Pretty sure there is a message in there somewhere*

Sometimes however it’s not just alcohol which may have led you into absurd situations. It’s just plain stupidity that leaves you vulnerable and helpless. When I was staying in a hostel in Sydney at the awesome age of 22, I needed to charge my phone. We had no electricity outputs in the room so armed with my travel plug adapter I went into the laundry room to use the sockets there. I knew this was a shit idea because it was really late at night and we had already been warned not to use this room for anything other than washing your clothes. But oh no sure, I went ahead and did what the fuck I wanted to anyway. You know that feeling you get where someone is watching you… well yup I was being watched. I had my back to the door and when I turned around there was a sweaty hairy drunk Spanish dude with his top off. I turned around, politely smiled and said hello because you know I didn’t want to be seen as rude to my potential murderer. He introduced himself as Jack and he was blocking the only exit in the room.

Shit just got real dot com.

He then followed up with ‘Jack… as in Jack the Ripper!’ and then laughed. Urmmm… firstly that shit ain’t funny. Secondly, Jack is a universal common name which doesn’t need explaining and C)… why couldn’t he have just said ‘Jack… as in Jack and Jill!’ A nursery rhyme example would not have sent me into a mad panic like his introduction of a notorious serial killer. So of course my mind went blank and my feet wouldn’t move as I entertained a meaningless conversation, all the while trying to decide whether I wanted Whitney ‘I Wanna Dance with Somebody’ or the theme music to ‘Fame’ to be played at my funeral. Because let’s face it folks… they WILL make a Channel 5 documentary about my untimely death.

After what seemed liked hours (actually was probably only 2 minutes) and after Jack the serial killer asked me if I wanted to go drinking with him, I all of sudden became mobile and said ‘I’m just going to call my friend’ dialling her number because I’m pretty sure 999 doesn’t work in Australia! He backed off, I edged myself past him and ran to my room thinking fuck… I should have ran to another room because he probably now knows where I sleep!

The moral of this very long winded story is thus: stay the hell away from laundry rooms at night! There ain’t nothing going on in there except dirty clothes and sweaty Spanish dudes who may or may not want to inappropriately kill you. I was young and stupid with no regard for rules or common sense. Now I’m just old and stupid with maybe some regard for rules. I’m not turning this post into a ‘Stranger Danger’ police campaign or another shocking advert that advocates no drinking… as before I hit 40 I will have made another million bad choices that land me in shit situations… all of which I hope to live to tell the tale! Experience comes with age... as well as a low libido, a penchant for regrets and counting up your shoulda, woulda, couldas… and droopy boobs. Oh and maybe a little wisdom. But only sometimes.


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