Beware, lots of words!
This may sound like a tall story, but this is actually a b3ta tale of gospel truth. Apologies for length also...

I was a naughty girl when I was younger. Narrowly escaped being expelled from school: wrong crowd, massive drugs, arrogance of youth.

My Mum was at her wits end. With resignation she'd given up trying give me curfews as I just used to climb out of my bedroom window, jump onto the kitchen's flat roof, leg it down to the bottom of the garden, hurdle the fence and be off. I'd left school at sixteen refusing to stay on and do A-Levels and gotten an admin job at a local paper. I earnt a pittance and hated the job but it gave me a small income to spend on clothes, clubbing and cigarettes.

I also had a Saturday job at a hairdressers' salon. My Mum had bagged me the job as she got her hair done there. My Mum thought the sun shone out of the girls' arses and that they conducted themselves in a mature, sensible way whilst still having fun. How wrong she was! The hairdressers were massive drug fiends who were well into the club scene. One of them had even bagged off with Brandon Block (bleurgh!!).

I got along really well with them, I was 16 and they were 22-25 and took my under their wings: styled my hair, leant me clothes, did my makeup, sourced the drugs and club tickets. We were regulars at Cream as well as going on weekenders to Passion, Golden, Godskitchen and Ministry. I had my trusty fake ID, which was getting a bit dog eared, but fortunately still looked kosha enough at first glance to get me into clubs.

Despite my tender years I quickly established myself as the sensible one and became guardian of everyones' essentials: makeup, chewing gum, perfume, hand mirrors, money and most importantly - drugs. At the time I was honoured to have such a vital role although looking back they probably just regarded me as a faithful pack horse.

One night at a certain nightclub we were taking a break from the dancing in a less crowded area, one of my new friends asked me to pass her an ecstacy tablet. I discreetly passed her one and with no fear she put her hand to her mouth, took a mouthful of water and tipped back her head. If she'd have glanced up at any point she'd have noticed that one of the doormen was looking directly at her. He alerted his fellow doormen to us and en masse they marched over. I quickly thought up and then discarded the idea of trying to cram the bag of tablets into my knickers - I'd never have time and they were looking at me anyway.

We were all hauled off to a corridor and quizzed whether we had any drugs. Everyone else truthfully denied possession and I said "Yes, I do". My bag was searched and the bag of tablets and a few wraps of speed was discovered. The chief doorman looking at the quantity of drugs and quickly assessing them to be more than personal use tells me "You're dealing drugs!!!" I start trying to explain that they belong to all of us but he cuts me off by telling me that posession is 9/10th's of the law. I'm frogmarched off to a holding room. A sign on the door tells me that everything I say and do is being video recorded. The seriousness of my situation is rapidly beginning to dawn on me.

I begin pleading "Please let me go home, please let me go home" and big fat tears of fear and regret start to roll down my cheeks and plop onto my lap. Some upper eschalon of the club has been summoned to the holding room and comes in to examine the haul of the drugs they have uncovered in my bag. He asks me my name and address, I offer them up with no hesitation through snot and tears. My eyes kept being drawn to the monitors displaying me in the holding room from various angles which was only adding to the feeling of impending doom.

I was told that the police had been called and that I would be spending the night in the cells. Eventually whilst re-cataloguing the contents of my bag they come across my dog eared ID. One of the doormen turns to me and says "oh blag ID too?" and I said "yeah". The firm but fair man who has been taking my details takes the fake ID and compares it to the details on his pad, he looks at me frowing "Have you given me your real details?". "Yes," I reply.

"How old are you?"

"16"

All the activity in the room stops. Doormen stop cataloguing the contents of my handbag. Glances are exchanged, they talk in hushed voices. Totally overwhelmed by the situation I have no idea that situation has turned dramatically in my favour. Two doormen roughly pull me to my feet and each with a hand under each armpit carry me hurriedly to a back exit. Minus all mine and my friends' personal possessions I'm thrown out into an alley behind the club. "GO!" shouts one of the doormen as I scramble to my feet. "I've got no money to get home," I say shakily. The doorman who didn't shout at me looks slightly sympathetic and puts his hand in his pocket and gives me a £20 note, "go on... get out of here... now," he says and points down the alleyway in the direction of what looks like a builders yard.

I begin to stumble forwards on jelly legs barely able to hold myself upright as I try to run. My mind is a total blur as I stagger forwards up the alley to the yard. As I turn around in the yard I vaguely recognise where I am. I make my way over to a low wall which has a 20 foot drop on the other side. I look around for another way down but there isn't one, I can't double back to the club either. I sit on the wall and dangle my legs over the drop, I'm nearly pissing myself with fear. I'm terrified that I'm about to get beaten up by a load of doormen, arrested or plumet to my death. All these fears are driving my desperation to get away.

I take my shoes off and drop them down onto the floor. Levering myself up with my hands I push myself off the wall telling myself to bend my knees when I land. I hit the floor with one foot on an angle, a sharp pain explodes in my ankle which makes me want to throw up. I gather my shoes and limp off down the road. I know that there's a taxi rank near the club entrance so nervously I round the corner towards the club but crossing the street so I'm on the other side. I manage to hail a cab near the taxi rank...

Eventually I am home to safety.

I realise what a very close scrape this was. If I hadn't been sixteen I would undoubtedly have a criminal record for possession with intent to supply. I'd like to say that incident terrified me into stopping taking drugs entirely but it didn't. However I eventually grew out of it and moved on with my life.
(Fireyfox is prepared to change, Sun 22 Aug 2010, 18:34, 3 replies)

Yikes
Bet you did not think so at the time but I reckon it made you see your then 'friends' in a different light. Here's hoping you got some better ones!
(Cockroach-Sombrero Cook Pass Babtridge, Sun 22 Aug 2010, 18:54, closed)

Yep...
I see now I was more than a little naive.

Gladly I don't see any of them anymore and have some proper friends :)
(Fireyfox is prepared to change, Sun 22 Aug 2010, 19:00, closed)

The
doormen were a bit daft.

You'd have thought they'd know that there was no safe way to get away from behind the club. Imagine the fun they'd have had when the splatted body of a 16 year old was found at the bottom of the sheer drop only accessible from behind their club.

And I bet they snorted the speed too.
( Not Pineapple anymore, Mon 23 Aug 2010, 14:00, closed)