Me and the Night
A series of unfortunate events
I find you can go through life looking at every situation through one of two lenses: one that’s more forgiving, and another which is less so. In the story I’m about to share, I’ve moved between feeling toe curling embarrassment for myself and a deep affection for the generosity of strangers. If you’d rather skip trying to morally evaluate someone else’s life (although that is what the internet is for), I’ll give you the short version: I ended up staying the night with a businessman I had just met in the lobby of the Estrel Hotel after losing my keys at a concert. Depending on your standards for uninhibitedness (mine vary), that short version sounds salacious at best and stupid at worst. Either way; here is what happened.
It all started when we went to The Last Dinner Party at The Uber Eats Arena last week (amazing sentence). Probably because of all the wine I drank, I got really wasted. I didn’t notice that I was that drunk, although looking back I did find dancing really easy and was writing down a lot of thoughts in my notes app. Wine or no wine, the gig was amazing. Having not known a lot about The Last Dinner Party before, it felt like I had stumbled into an alternative universe where bands were just always all girls*, and that even beyond the stage of the Uber Eats Arena, we were the ones that everything happened to.
As me and Lewis parted ways cycling home, I stopped to get a falafel. A few minutes into the onward journey, I heard my phone thud out of my pocket. I ground to a halt to pick it up but it wasn’t anywhere I could see, despite getting out my MacBook Pro to use as a torch (not typically something I bring with me to gigs—I’d just come from work). It was also at this point that it dawned on me: I could not find my keys either. Very suddenly, there were two undeniable strikes against me being a Drunk Mess. The MacBook Pro continued to be a saving grace as I went back to the falafel stand to connect to the beautiful and prosaically titled website ‘Find my iPhone’. After a few fruitless trips back and forth, the falafel guy hopped on his bike to join the search. With a combination of hotspots and the “play sound” feature, we found the phone in a bush by the cycle lane. My stats at this moment were as follows: Uneaten falafel wraps: 1, Phones: 1, Keys: 0.
At this point you need some context: my spare keys live at Matt’s house, who had left that morning for the UK. It was 02:00 am on a weekday, and I did call Lewis but owing to the length of the phone drama, he was already asleep. I had been through a lot with the falafel guy, and as Theo very aptly put it when I tried to explain it all, it felt like it was just me and the night at that point. If I had somehow managed to get through to a friend, the thought of arriving to their door, sleeping in their bed, waking up in their house… I just couldn’t face it. Sometimes, at your lowest, the kindness of a stranger is easier to stomach than the kindness of a friend. I had a new plan: kill the remaining five hours until Matt’s flatmate wakes up, and do so in the Estrel hotel.
The Estrel hotel is a large, corporate convention centre 5 minutes from my house. If anyone is familiar with the Faraway Tree, it is something like that; different conventions passing through weekend to weekend, bringing with it a new hyper-specific crowd that I see in the McDonald’s nearby. Once, Freddie, Edy and I hung around in the hotel bar during the European Furry convention. A few months ago, me and Theo snuck into the big hall for the 2024 Yu-Gi-Oh championships. One time I randomly worked in the lobby on my laptop. It was this last occasion that instilled a confidence in me that you can sit in its huge, sprawling lobby and go relatively unnoticed. Another thing I should mentioned about the Estrel Hotel’s lobby, is that it is usually completely empty.
I parked my bike outside, and owing to the fact I did not have keys, left it unlocked with a quick wish that I would find it there in the morning. I traipsed in to the huge atrium and was surprised to find it alight with activity. Everyone looked the same: late thirties to late fifties, dressed in suits, cartoonishly wasted. I sat down on one of the sofas and immediately began to cry; the full, shambolic reality of my situation finally hitting me. Two disheveled businessmen sitting on another sofa were looking at me. Suddenly I desperately wanted someone to talk to. “What’s going on in the hotel tonight?” I tried to ask nonchalantly. They looked worried. “Do you know [German name of something I did not know]”. Hmmm no. “okay do you know [more German words]”. Ermm no. “Okay do you know Guinness”. Duh! “Well this is a convention for Germany’s version of Guiness”. I looked around and it dawned on me that I had found myself in the middle of none other than what I am now going to call: The Beer Convention. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t notice it earlier. A woman walked past us touting a crate of beer as if it were a handbag. Everyone was slurring their words. Beers began to amass in front of me (owing to my teariness). I suddenly became very, very tired.
A man in his thirties slumped down next to me on the sofa. He looked like Seth Rogan had he made different, more corporate choices. He cheersed me with his beer and I clinked one from my growing pile. His eyes were glassy with alcohol but he noticed my teary face and I explained my situation. I kept on saying ‘I’m a real person!!! I have a job!!!’ I was so close to waving around my MacBook Pro in front of everyone. He listened with a warm, harmless energy, occasionally tossing a few friendly remarks to colleagues as they passed by. “Okayyyy” he slurred. “This is going to sound reallllllyyyy weird and I have a girlfriend so I hope it’s not going to be tooo personalll to say”. He hiccuped. “I havvve a spare rooommm in my room, you can have itttt if you want”. My heart leapt, but I quickly laughed. First of all, a spare room? In his room? This guy was wasted! More importantly, I could not add “got murdered” to the list of disasters this evening. The optics were terrible, but the man was so benign that I heard myself say. Okay. Yes please. I would like to stay in the room. “I havvvve a girlfffrriend” he reiterated. I have a boyfriend! I said, extending my hand. We shook on it — it being ‘please don’t be a creep’ for both of us I think. As we rode up in the lift, he showed me photos from The Beer Convention. He tapped his keycard and lo and behold, we were greeted with two separate rooms, with two separate doors. I jumped for joy. “Seeee. I told youuu” he hiccuped, his eyes shining. He was just a nice guy, at a beer convention, helping out a total mess.
I washed my hands, got a glass of water, and fell asleep in my room. The next morning I left while he was in the shower, with a note thanking him. It felt as if I had travelled into a different dimension of time and space for the night—only to be delivered back through the hotel’s revolving doors in a sea of suited businessmen. As I walked out into the grey morning, my bike was leaning against the wall, exactly where I left it.
✤
Bloody brilliant