An Open Letter... to 'That Guy'
- Published on Tuesday, 23 July 2013 12:11
My Dear Friend,
It’s like you came out of nowhere! I was desperately looking around for a rizla when you popped up waving five in front of me, and there begun our first exchange.
There’s something about the smoking area that has an element of magic about it… a real sense of unity rests in the air that can’t be found anywhere else! Maybe it’s that we jump on the chance to chat without being drowned out by the speakers, or perhaps you could just put it down to ecstasy-fuelled enthusiasm. Barriers are broken down; coincidences realised at a rate of knots and then marvelled upon with child-like wonder. ‘You have friends in London! No way man, me too! Weird!’ The result? Iron cast friendships formed faster than you can say ‘yellow rockstar’, and ours was most definitely one of them.
Did you go out alone? Or did you just decide my group of friends would make for a more interesting evening? Either way, we had no problem in welcoming you into our little circle of friends to dance the night away. One of my friends gave you a key, and in exchange you offer the last warm drip in your scrunched up water bottle – a genuine act of kindness at 3am. As the night comes to an end we make our way out of the club, hailing down a couple of taxis to continue the party back at mine. You come with us, of course.
And at first - my eager friend - everything was just fine! We’re a fairly close-knit group, but you kept things entertaining with elaborate stories of getting ketty with James Jones and Liam Foss, your sets at DC10, and other questionable anecdotes. Okay, you may have spilt your drink all over our floor and sofas a few times with enthusiastic gestures – but no big deal. It was when you took control of the speakers that things started to go a bit west. That dubstep remix of the Lloyds TSB advert? Hardstyle? Snow patrol? Come on mate, I thought you’d feel the atmosphere tense up, or at least see from the people leaving the room that this wasn’t the time… but no! With a sinking feeling, it dawned on me that you must just be ‘that guy’.
As if a light had been turned on, it was suddenly so clear. There was something feral about you, as your eyes darted around the room, switching between staring people out and avoiding eye contact all together, although in all honesty your eyes had been doing their own thing most of the night. You sat there, crossed legged on the floor, blasting out Beyoncé and fiddling with a lighter – and I suddenly became all too aware that you’re one of the only ones left. Moreover, I suddenly became aware you’ve lost half your clothes and are covered in… dirt? What even is that? There’s a weird smell and I look down to see you’ve spent the last five minutes trying to set fire to the carpet. We had to find a way to get you out…
‘Err mate… everyone’s pretty shattered; I think we’re guna hit the hay…’
It was weak, I’ll admit. But it was all I could come up with. We started to go through the motions… turning off the speakers, moving things away in a half arsed attempt to look like tidying, all the while avoiding eye contact with you. It was our last resort, and maintaining the ruse was crucial.
‘OK I’ll just sleep here on the floor’
you replied, pulling your jumper over your head and making a pillow out of an empty can...
And there we had it. You were to be part of the furniture for the night, whether we liked it or not. You lay there, snoring away with the sort of death rattles which cry out for a change of lifestyle, whilst we desperately tried to block them out and get some shut eye for ourselves. Hours passed and we drifted off, and when we arose you were gone. Where? None of us were sure. You dissappeared just as mysteriously as you arrived.
So there it is! If you do stumble upon this letter, my messy companion, i'd love to hear from you. Who knows, we could be great friends one day? Besides, you left your phone and one of your shoes.