Koko night out

« Are you coming tonight? »

I look up, surprised. M is standing in the doorway to my bedroom, waiting for my answer with a big smile on his face. I don’t understand why he’s just asked me if I’m coming out as I think the answer is pretty obvious. I’m in bed in my pyjamas bingewatching Friends for the umpteenth time with my chocolate supply strategically placed on the bedside table. My dinner tray is on the floor because I couldn’t be bothered taking it back to the kitchen. Sure I’m 25 and it’s 10pm on Saturday night. But does it look like I’m about to go anywhere?

A little voice in my head starts saying: you have been living like a hermit since your break up and you are dangerously close to becoming Bridget Jones. Go out, meet new people and have fun.

The problem is, I don’t want to go out. My bed is too comfortable. 

M is still waiting for my answer. I realise I can’t decently say « Sorry but my bed is too comfortable, I don’t think I want to go out tonight », which would already be a nicer version of what my brain is actually thinking. I try to buy some time:

« Where are you going? » I don’t know why I’m asking that, it’s not like I haven’t made up my mind already. Nowhere can be as cozy as where I already am.

« There’s this club up North in Camden called Koko. It used to be a theatre but they turned it into a nightclub. It’s great, you’ll see. »

I’ll see no such thing. Alarm bells started ringing at the sound of the first « club ». 

I’ve never been a massive fan of big nights out. Loud music leaving your ears ringing when you are finally in bed, fluorescent lights flashing in your face, floors sticky with the accumulation of thousands of droplets of alcohol, none of this ever had much of an appeal to me. It does not help that I am incapable of loosening up without a large amount of alcohol and that I look like a disarticulated doll whenever I try to dance. I should say « dance », because I am not sure the only coordinated movements I am capable of doing even qualify as dancing.

It’s not that I am shy or self-conscious. I mean, I am shy and self-conscious, but more than anything else, I am an introvert.

I once read that an introvert is like a mobile phone whereas an extrovert is like a car. When you’ve used your phone for a long time, you need to charge it or the battery will just die. On the contrary you need to drive your car regularly as its battery will die if the car just sits in the garage unused. 

M is a sportscar. I am a good old Nokia. No actually, because even my beloved Nokia used to last for at least a week without a charger. I’m more like the latest smartphone, giving you the impression it is highly performing, until you realise you need to recharge it after every single interaction. 

We introverts tend to complain that extroverts are just loud and annoying, but secretly part of us is a tiny little bit jealous of them and their easy-goingness (I don’t know if that’s even a word but it sounds like a word that would go well with an extrovert). If I am honest, I would love to want to go out tonight. I would love to be fun and care-free. 

I don’t even need to be a Ferrari. A Twingo or Fiat 500 would do. 

But I just don’t want to get out of bed. The screen is not saying 100% charged yet. It’s actually been stubbornly stuck on 45% charged lately.

I still have not replied to M. I will have to lie then. It won’t fool him but he will let me off the hook.

« Oh that sounds nice but it’s been a long week actually and I’m pretty tired, so I think I’m just going to stay home tonight and have an early night. » »

« Ok get dressed, you’re coming tonight. »

I’m too surprised to reply straight away. I must have heard wrong, his sentence does not fit in with mine at all. 

« I’m sorry, what? » (My communications skills are not particularly elaborate when I am taken aback)

« You’ve spent all your evenings like this for the past few weeks. It’s Saturday night, we’re going out. We’re leaving in half an hour so you’d better get dressed ». M closes the door before I can react.

***

Half an hour later and I’m looking at myself in the mirror before setting off. I am wearing the most clubbing dress I own (my wardrobe is not very British in that regard), I have swapped my woolly socks for high heels (which means maximum 7 cm so we are hardly talking stilettos here), I have brushed my hair, put contact lenses on and even make up (although again, make up for me means mascara and eyeliner - I am absolutely clueless when it comes to anything more sophisticated than this and I am not interested enough to spend time watching tutorials on YouTube). Mascara and eyeliner will have to do - it already makes me look less like a zombie that I was half an hour ago.

I am surprised at myself. Half an hour ago I was perfectly happy spending the evening watching TV in bed. Now I’m about to go out for the first time in ages. And I’m actually a tiny bit excited.

I open the door to my bedroom and step into the corridor. M looks me up and down and nods appreciatively. 

« You look great. Let’s go. »

***

I thought we were taking the tube to Koko but M has ordered an Uber. Ok then, we’re doing things in style. I confess I appreciate the ride. As we pass along familiar tourists’ highlights, I can’t help but think London really is beautiful by night. I rarely get to see it, I’m usually in bed then.  

By the time we arrive at the club I’m not too keen on getting out of the car anymore. Partly because I was starting to feel quite comfortable in there, partly because of the swarms of party goers outside, all visibly with a few grams of alcohol running through their veins already. This is when I realise that I am dead sober. M probably already had a few pints at the pub before going home but I haven’t had a drop of alcohol yet. That won’t do if I am to enjoy the night. I’ll need a drink pretty soon or my battery level is going to plummet to 10% in record time.

I momentarily forget about drinking after stepping inside. M was right, Koko is beautiful. It still looks like an old-fashioned theatre with red velvet on the floor and golden chandeliers. I would have loved coming here. There is even live music on stage although we are far, very far from the operas that were probably performed here 100 years ago. Still, it’s not your average club and I must say I am impressed.

M introduces me to a group of friends and disappears to get us some drinks. I’m thankful he has taken over this responsibility as I have always dreaded going to the bar. Battling your way to the front of the queue, only to then stand stupidly in front of the counter while everyone else seems to get served before you, desperately trying to catch the bartender’s eyes so you can order your drink, sigh with relief when you finally get it only to realise with horror you have to make your way back out without losing half of your glass in the process. But to be honest, it’s much worse for bartenders. I have a secret admiration for them - I mean how do they survive all night with blaring music and customers yelling orders they probably don’t even hear themselves.

As usual when I’m left alone in a large group (actually, as usual when I’m in a large group, full stop), I stay quiet. Another characteristic of introverts. We prefer one to one conversations to chit chat with ten other people. But I do like conversation, so I turn to the guy standing right next to me and start engaging with him (as far as conversation is possible in a roaring club). M comes back surprisingly quickly with a mojito for me. Twenty minutes later and it turns out I am actually starting to enjoy the night. M must have come back with drinks again at some point because my glass is now almost full. This is not so bad after all. 

Except… Wait. My new friend seems a bit too interested in me. If I’m not mistaken he has just subtly suggested a date. He has incredible blue green eyes and a deep husky voice but I am just not in the mood for dating right now. Plus I am a silly romantic and it wouldn’t do to meet your other half in a crowded nightclub right? The problem is I am totally clueless at getting out of these situations. Instead of politely declining or just making an excuse, I just get into fight or flight mode. 

Side note: when I was a student at a mock international conference in New York, a guy from another university I was casually chatting to asked me if I wanted to come to his room at the end of the day for coffee. I remember asking « Isn’t it going to be a bit late for coffee? » (Yes I was that naive). It’s only when he said, looking slightly confused « it doesn’t have to be coffee… » that it dawned on me. And I did the only think I could possibly do in such situation: give a rubbish excuse for having to leave and make a run for it. When my friend asked me what was wrong with the guy, I could not think of anything to say. There was nothing wrong with the guy. To this day I don’t know why I reacted that way. But I do know I am about to react exactly the same way now. 

I blurt out something about being really busy and not having a lot of free time, which is a total lie but I don’t care. Luckily I spot M at this very moment and manage to politely suggest we join back the others. Perfect escape. I might regret it later but right now, I’m just relieved.

***

As the night progresses, I am increasingly relaxed and increasingly tipsy. There’s probably a nice correlation between the two. I am even dancing without caring what I must look like. Why can’t I naturally be like this? And to think I was about to spend the night alone at home. This was a good idea. Thank you M. 

I can’t think too properly anymore, which I like and don’t like at the same time, if that makes sense? I’m not making too much sense to myself if I’m being honest. Probably not a bad thing. I’d like to be more of an extrovert. 

***

« Why are we friends? »

We are back at the flat now. I’m not too sure how we got home from Koko but I’m now wearing my pyjamas again, this time sitting on the sofa instead of lying in bed. White peach tea has replaced mojitos for our traditional nightcap before bed.

M does not immediately react to my question. To be fair I am trying to embark on a deep and meaningful conversation at 4pm. I continue nevertheless.

« I know why I like you. You push me out of my comfort zone and you make me do things I would otherwise never do. You live life 100% and I get a bit of that too when I’m around you. But why do you like me? » 

It’s a genuine question. We have been flatmates for over a year now and I have often wondered why we get along so well when we look like polar opposites on paper.

I’m starting to really feel the tiredness now. Battery low, need to charge soon. 

I wasn’t expecting M to reply anymore so I am surprised to hear him and even more surprised to hear what he’s got to say.

« You keep everything in balance when I’m all over the place. And you’re a great listener, it’s just easy to talk to you. You make sense of what I’m saying, when I just talk a lot without thinking things through. »

I never thought about it this way. I guess we do complement each other pretty well then. 

***

It’s 4:30am and I finally go to bed. I’ll sleep like a baby tonight for sure. Before switching off the light, I put my phone to charge so it’s ready for a bright new day tomorrow.