A Night on the Tiles

No feeling is more horrible than waking up in the morning after a long, excessive night out. Today, it’s not different, and although I have experienced these kinds of mornings several times over the years, I still don’t have a cure for all the after-effects. It feels as if an 18-wheeler ran over my head, my eyelids are hurting and my throat is terribly dry and scratchy. I can’t even look at the ceiling above me because it seems to be moving. I guess these are just the typical consequences you have to hazard when you drank a lot of alcohol and smoked quite a few cigarettes the night before. I’m sure that my friends have to go through the same at the moment, but that’s nothing more than cold comfort right now.

Ignoring the lightning-like pain that keeps racking my head, I finally get up. I won’t draw back the curtains right now, the glaring daylight would probably make things even worse. The reeking clothes I was wearing last night are carelessly lying on the floor, and I quickly pick them up to put them into the laundry basket, not without getting out my wallet of the jeans. I don’t even want to take a look into it – I’m sure I’ll be shocked to see how much money I actually spent yesterday. I guess all intentions of saving money are forgotten at a great party, but today I can’t help but be annoyed about it – in the end, I paid a lot of money to feel horrible today. Great job!

While I’m trying to cure my hangover, memories of last night keep coming back into my mind. From what I remember, my friends and I really had a good time, but my memory seems to fade away the longer the party went on. However, my recollection of the beginning of the party is crystal-clear. I remember two guys fighting in front of the toilets after being in the club for just a couple of minutes, and I can also recall the barkeeper that wanted to impress a couple of girls by demonstrating a trick with some bottles, only to drop two of them to the ground. But what astonished (and shocked) me most were a couple of drunken teenagers that were definitely too young to get inside the club, but obviously fake IDs are still working nowadays to fool the bouncers – sad, but true.

However, my memory gets blurred when it comes to events later that night, as if I was looking through a veil, unable to see things clearly. I remember talking to a couple of people, but no details of any conversation want to come to my mind. However, I can perfectly recall all the staccato-like lights in the club, lightening up the room for short periods, like glaring bolts in a dark night, only a lot more colourful – green, red, blue, yellow and finally green again.

When I try to think about the time towards the end of the night, my memory goes crazy. I can’t recall any non-stop happenings, just snatches of different events carelessly strung together like cross-fades in a movie, one after another. Me talking to a girl. Cut. Me having another beer. Cut. Me finally going home. Cut. Me struggling to find the keys. Cut. And finally me getting out of my clothes. Cut.

After a refreshing shower, a strong coffee, numerous glasses of water and an aspirin, I’m finally feeling like a human being again. Of course, a great party is fun, but is it worth feeling horrible the next day? Naturally, the answer should be “no”, and I think I have learned a lesson this time. At least till next weekend.