Computer nerds remember the first computer on which they fell in love with programming. Singers remember the first stage on which they performed. Most girls remember their first kiss. Quite a number of parents their kids’ first step.
Now, the universe has had its way with most of my firsts, finding a way to embarrass me. On my first day of high school, my mother had made me shave my head bald since I had relaxed my hair. To reduce the embarrassment as we traveled to school, I wore a hat the whole time. Moreover, as we had bought my uniform outside the school (something about cheaper prices), I realized, to my mortification, that the sweater that was bought for me had a different shade of red from the one that other students had. As if that wasn’t enough, one of the teachers saw me with the hat and made me take it off, leaving my bald head exposed to the sun.
So picture this. A girl in an oversized skirt, an almost-orange sweater, a white shirt underneath, a red hat in her hand and a bald head so shiny that it was reflecting the sun. If the universe thought that this was the way to introduce me to one of the most important phases in my life, imagine how it would introduce me to the world of partying.
I have always been slow to change, and agreeing to go to this party in the first place took some convincing. I went for a simple look, throwing on a pair of jeans, some light converse shoes, and a nice-looking top. I dabbed on some lipstick and darkened my eyes, but just a bit. I did not want to look like I was trying too hard.
8.30 pm saw me and my friends board a bus to our destination. I was honestly quite excited. Was I going to have fun?
Maybe meet an interesting guy?
Who knows, maybe I could meet ‘The One’? (Before you roll your eyes, know that at this point in my life, I was as innocent as they came).
I slowly started to come down my romantic cloud as soon as we entered the house. First, it was packed to the brim, and the air was filled with a mixture of sweat, the smell of alcohol, and cheap cologne. Also, there was no food as promised, and so we headed to the kitchen that was less stuffy and had better potential for having a meal.
Soon after, my friends melted into the crowd, their voices meshed with the other partygoers, leaving me and a blacked-out guy in the kitchen. At this point in my life, I was a teetotaler, and trust me, when you are sober at a party where only two people are sober, you are in for a rough night.
Soon afterward, a drunk voice shouted for attention to the living room. Apparently, the ratio of the number of people invited to the party, to those who attended was about ten to one. The owner of the house kindly asked us to leave, before we were duly arrested. A round of boos, accompanied by the fried sound of the owner’s music system (A very pissed and unsteady hand “accidentally” poured beer on it) followed. The series of events that followed made sure that we could not leave.
First, the birthday girl, a homie of mine with whom I studied in high school, busted into tears. Then, a heavy downpour started outside, and I wasn’t thrilled at the thought of getting wet. Due to our very soft, drunk and scared-to-be-cold hearts, we decided that we would be very quiet, well as quiet as drunks can be, which would be helped by the lack of a music system. Soon afterward, everyone was grinding on everyone and everyone’s face was full of cake cream. I had gone back to my kitchen counter, with a glass of coffee cradled in my right hand. On my left, I had a handful of popcorn. All was well, according to me at least.
At 12 am this changed. Several drunken guys decided that it would be cool to piss on the neighbor’s hedge, and when she complained, they thought that the only way out would be to hit on her. The guards then decided that they would throw us out. So in the downpour, a few of us left and went to the gate, waiting for the bus. Unfortunately, no buses were available, and we were left at the roadside shaking in the cold. After a lot of begging, the guards allowed us in on the condition that we would leave by 5 am. We went back to the house, dripping wet, only to realize that all the beddings had already been occupied. No cup of coffee was offered to us, and we ended up sleeping on the stairs, the hard concrete as our mattress and our now-somewhat dry trench coats as our blankets. By 3 am I couldn’t sleep anymore, and so I went to the kitchen, jumping over a canoodling couple. Fortunately, I found a cup of tea and a phone on which I could play candy crush. By 5 am I had made one major resolution: no house parties for me again.
Did I stick to my resolution?
Well, that is to be seen.