My night in Nottingham (or why you shouldn't bother coming to the UK)

Asylum Forums : Powered by vBulletin version 2.2.8

Asylum Forums > The Lost Forum > My night in Nottingham (or why you shouldn't bother coming to the UK)

Pages (2): [1] 2 »

Last Thread Next Thread

Author

Thread

rodney
Hates airplanes.

Registered: Jul 2001
Location: Little Rock.
Posts: 2597

My night in Nottingham (or why you shouldn't bother coming to the UK)

They're out there coming after me again, this time in more creative ways. I guess that's what I get for setting them free, but that's another story and something I'll deal with.

I had to go into work yesterday, roped into the backlines on the ISO bird which I'm still not sure how or why that happened exactly. Standing in front of a plane with two propellers whirring around at a frightening speed normally isn't too bad, but when the whole plane lurches forward because they had the flaps in the wrong position when they took number two to full power is another thing all together. It was a day. Billy and I spent most of the time in the break room after reviewing forms and doing some other stuff so we sat around looking up random things. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anderson%2C_California Funny how I never thought to look up my home town on wikipedia until then.

Anyway, we got off work around two, had a barbecue, got buzzed and somehow ended up on our way to Nottingham with some other blue suiters and some czech girl that was a ballerina or at least a dancer of some sort. Along the way we passed up the Biggest Beer Store In Britain, some place called Hilgay and various other strange things during the two or so hour drive. England has a lot of smells, some of them pleasant, 95% of them rancid and along the lines of beer shits after a long night of drinking Guinness. Nothing you'd really want to smell.

Billy, some guy named Rob, and I decided to go into this pub across the street from the hotel we stayed at while the others got our rooms. The bouncer let us in after checking our identification, which I'm accustomed to as I look quite young and I'm rather short, no big deal. Billy walks up to the bar and tries to order a drink, but the bartender wants to look at my ID. When out and about in a foreign country it's usually best not to advertise the fact that you're in the military, so I showed the douche bag my California driver's license. He doesn't accept it so I go to pull out my military ID but he refuses to look at it. I have never been turned away in any other pub in England but I got turned away at this place. Motherfucker, that's strike one. I was blown away and really didn't know how to take it. The barmaids looked younger than I do. Here I am, in the military, two years over the legal age in England and I'm being denied escape from the pain that is my worthless existence. We leave, the rest of the night I keep hearing about how I look like I'm 15.

We ventured to a strip club to start the night off. Strip clubs in England are a joke when compared to those found in the US. Overpriced and you don't really get much out of anything there. $40 or so for five budweisers is unforgiveable. I won't delve too much into the time we spent there, I was creeped out the whole time because one of the girls there looked exactly like my cousin. That's some janky shit.

From there we went to a club called Oceana. It's not often I go hang out with people I know, let alone go to clubs. Sometimes I forget how much I hate people and find myself in these weird places. I especially hate the dress code bullshit, everybody looks the same, like a total fucking twat. First drink was a Jack and Coke, followed by countless other combinations of liquor and what have you. I seriously failed to get drunk, for some reason it just wasn't working.

Clubs in England are ridiculously loud and filled with smoke. Also, they never turn on the fucking AC and the idea of ventilation of any kind seems to be beyond them. Billy forgot to grab his cigarettes before we left, so he ended up spending six pounds on a pack of cigarettes, something close to twelve dollars for sixteen smokes.

I danced with some really hot girl, well, I guess you could call it dancing. I can't dance, have no urge to, and in fact have a policy against doing so. Basically I rubbed my crotch on her ass until I got tired. Shortly after somebody said something to make me laugh, which made me choke, which in turn caused me to vomit in my own mouth. I had a few drinks and some cigarettes in an attempt to rid myself of the taste, but it was a no-go.

I got sick of my "friends" trying to get me to dance so I went down stairs to the disco room. When I say I got sick of my friends, what I really mean is I saw a girl that caught my eye and decided to engage in some stalker-ish activity. I pursued her and her friends but lost them in the crowd. When I'm sober I don't have much tolerance for interaction, this wasn't helped by some lady burning my with her cigarette. Stupid bitch.

I found a nice place to sit where I could watch people. People watching is informative and entertaining. I saw a guy set his mouth on fire, had two guys run past me exchanging blows, saw some 40 year old guy wander around dressed like a baby, complete with footy pajamas. I also saw four or five guys jump on top of each other doing some weird dog-pile thing. Mostly I sat there looking at some girl I was sure I went to school with, but she just really looked like a girl I went to school with. There was some douche bag that dressed like Zack Morris at his early 90s prom who kept dancing like he was having a seizure of some sort.

If you go to a club in England, which I'll advise against, you'll notice they're obsessed with some of our worst 80s music. They played the theme from Baywatch, which everyone sang along to, then played the theme to Rocky, which everyone sang along to as well. The guys have mullets and other ridiculous and stupid hair cuts. I spent a majority of my senior year making fun of people with mullets, I don't know what these people are thinking. They also tend to dress like it's the late 80s to early 90s. I still haven't determined this infatuation with the worst styles the US developed and then did away with. It's like being in some sort of swirling time rift where you're continuously smacked with bad taste from the past. Where's the culture? Where's the style? It's not in England.

Four in the morning rolled around and we all left. Josh, or "Cooter" as I call him somehow managed to attach himself to this fat and ugly redhead. We lost him on the way back to the hotel. Somehow Billy picked up a set up fairy wings which he drunkenly wore. He was pissed off for some reason and punched a wall. Punching walls when drunking isn't the brightest thing to do, things tend to get broken, like knuckles. Drew kicked an empty bottle into a curb which then shattered against a store and set it's alarm off. Low-profile never occured to those bastards.

We made it back to the hotel room, without Cooter and everyone but myself passed out. I just laid there on the bed until Cooter came to the door with the redhead and three of her friends: Some fat blonde with acne scars, her boyfriend, and some gay guy that managed to cling to them. Billy was passed out on his stomach wearing only his boxers--which had some skid marks on them. Immediately the girl starts making fun of him and they all call him "Skiddy". I was very much irritated with people by then. At one point when the blonde kept trying to take the blanket I had I told her it was a very bad idea to touch me. I said a lot of mean and rude things. When they started talking about americans being fat I told her she was full of shit and should take a good look at herself. Damn near everything the English eat is fried. They said something about us eating more and larger portions, which is also bullshit. The portions here are the same and in some cases larger. Finally they left after the manager threatened to kick us out because of them being noisy.

We went to Nottingham Castle, which was a big waste of time. If you've seen one castle in England, you've seen them all. Boring, boring, boring. Like this post. Afterward we went to Hooters. The wings that were supposed to be hot weren't even close to being warm. I ordered a hooter burger, which I had once before in Vegas and thought it would be good. Who the fuck puts bell peppers on a burger? On top of this, they charged me a pound on top of the six pounds and 49 pence listed. Since when does any place charge extra for basic shit outside of cheese? I ended up paying somewhere around $24 for a mediocre burger.

In closing, England is expensive, disappointing, and most of all dirty(in more ways then one). I'm not sure where I'll be going when my time is up here. Maybe Germany, maybe Japan. God forbid I get sent back to the US before my contract is up, if that happens I just hope they don't send me to the south. Edwards would suit me just fine.

Maybe I just can't enjoy myself. I'll be buying a Saab 900 Turbo on Tuesday, at least I know I can always enjoy going fast. I'll also be visiting the Biggest Beer Store In Britain, hopefully that's not as much of a disappointment as all of the pubs, clubs, castles and cities I've been to.

One last thing: What happened to just fallin in love with a nigga with a bus pass --
-- just cause you love the nigga?

__________________