The Written Podcast: Not My Atmosphere

Yesterday, I was invited out for a drink with my work colleagues. I don’t drink alcohol, so I stuck with Diet Coke, which I jokingly referred to as “virgin Coke and Run on the Rocks; and Diet” which got at least a couple of chuckles, but obviously I wasn’t expecting the entire pub to be rolling around with laughter.

I’m the type of person who doesn’t do nightclubs. I tried it once before and hated it. I’ve been to a couple of concerts before, but even then I made sure to be seated on the sides not standing in the middle to watch the band playing. I don’t do dancing in a crowded room, it’s just not how I’m wired. I can sit here typing out the specifics on how my mind works and why dancing is not something I’m instantly drawn to doing the moment of stepping into a nightclub.

The gathering wouldn’t be in a nightclub, however, but instead in a pub. Well, over the past few years, I’ve developed by a staggering amount. If I were to stand next to myself from the past and compare notes, I’d certainly notice the difference in confidence. I would definitely describe myself as a completely different person compared to that of who I was only but two years ago.

I’ve not stepped foot into that atmosphere since that nightclub, and so it’s only fair that I keep my open-minded attitude and give a night out with my work colleagues – people I get along with every single day – a chance. A second chance at a night out. Because of how much I’ve changed, maybe it’ll be a different experience. Same atmosphere, different way of processing it.

As the night drew closer and it was nearing the time for me to climb into my car, I did feel a little nervous, but I didn’t let it consume me as it would have done. Before, I dreaded even the thought of stepping foot into that atmosphere, so I automatically, instantly, refused to go out. This time, I may have been nervous, but I had the power to push on forward. I had the ability to keep those nerves from getting the better of me and keep me grounded at home.

The pub was crowded from the beginning of the night, and gradually became so packed it was difficult to move properly. There were so many people, it was a complete battering against my senses. I couldn’t hear myself think. I couldn’t concentrate properly on what people were saying, on what was going on around me, I could feel myself not smiling; not enjoying the moment. It transpired that I wasn’t the only person who wished to be out of there – so we moved to a different venue.

In the second venue, the loud music was even louder, but the people were fewer, and so it was something I could see myself getting used to eventually. My work colleagues were talking about their lives and dancing to the music, and so were the strangers, of which there seemed to be more and more entering the pub. I found myself sitting at a table, not doing a thing.

I tried interacting with my colleagues. I spoke to them, but only for a minute or so before that conversation naturally died off, rendering me once again just sitting by the table, not entirely enjoying the atmosphere.

A sit down meal. A one-on-one meal. A pub where only my work colleagues were in and no strangers; where we can not only choose the music we play, but also set the volume to the level we can at least have a decent conversation with. All better nights out than where I was.  The second venue was once again just as tortuous to the senses as the first. And it didn’t take long before I had reached my limit. I snapped. I had to get out of there. I had to leave.

I didn’t want to leave because my work colleagues were happy that someone like me were out and about, and so leaving would feel like I was disappointing them. I had reached the unrelenting paradox where I wanted to leave the venue because I was too nervous to stay, but also didn’t want to leave because I was too nervous to leave. I was stuck in the middle of two mental blocks – both of which were being constantly battered by the coherent nonsense all around me.

I had learnt that, whilst I had certainly changed from who I was a couple of years ago, I hadn’t changed as much as I thought I had. At least I tried, though. At least I gave it a second chance. At least I ventured forth into the world I once hated in an attempt to make peace with it, and enjoy myself, not sit down, unmoving, with a face that was ever growing sadder and sadder with each passing song. Maybe in a couple of years’ time I’d try it again.

On Monday of this week, it turns out that I needn’t have been worried about leaving early because I wasn’t enjoying myself; they accepted it wasn’t my atmosphere. If and when they organise another night out, I probably won’t be attending, not because the night out is actually bad, but purely on the basis that it just isn’t my scene. I’d rather be sitting at home, wrapped up in my duvet, watching a good movie.

Thanks for reading

Antony Hudson

(TonyHadNouns)