Working at a nightclub had it's advantages and disadvantages. I guess work could be a lot harder than pouring people drinks and laughing at the people too drunk to stand. But the hours sucked, and sometimes seeing all of those drunk but happy couples could remind you just how alone you were.
It was a busy night tonight, but then again Fridays always were. The smoky room was packed to the rafters with moving bodies, and people pushing each other out of the way to reach the sticky bar which I was stood behind. I suppose it wasn't a surprise that we were so busy that no one could move; we were one the most popular nightclubs in London. Often you could catch sight of a celebrity in the VIP area, and this only drew more people in. Maybe that was the reason that 'famous' people didn't really phase me anymore. Once you've seen a hundred drunk people they all blend into one anyway.
Tonight there was a ridiculous amount of girls aged between 18 and 24, but there was an obvious explanation for that; Harry Styles had chosen to occupy our VIP area and with that there had been an influx of girls dressed in very little hanging around the roped off section.
I wondered if they knew how often he came in here, or how often he took random girls home with him. I also wondered if they realised that they wouldn't be whisked off to a life of stardom and glamour even if they were the girl picked that night. Really it was just sad to watch.
At about 3am I finished my shift and started gathering my coat and bag from the staff room out the back. Everyone had either gone home or moved on around 2.30 so I could walk across the dance floor that was sticky from all the spilt drinks with no problem. It had been years since I had actually gone to a club by choice, I was kind of sick of them I suppose.
As I exited the front doors I waved to the bouncers who were still hanging around the doors. I then headed around the side alley to pick up my car which I had left parked there. As I rounded the corner I saw a body lying face down in the gutter.
I think that a lot of people would probably leave the person lying there surrounded by their own vomit, and maybe just have a passing thought of how pathetic they were. However, typically, I was not one of those people, but one that would have been plagued with guilt and sleeplessness for nights wondering about that person, and if they got home ok. Really I needed to learn how to be more of a bitch.
So, really for my own benefit, I slowly paced towards the body and tapped on their shoulder. I needed to at least establish if they were conscious.
I heard a moan from the body which I had since decided was male, and so I lifted them slowly up. I was shocked to see a head of chocolate curls and a decidedly famous face. Who would have left Harry Styles in a gutter? Didn't they have guards to stop this kind of thing?
I couldn't leave him here. Imagine the morning when the paparazzi found him; his life wouldn't be worth living. It was for this reason that I made the split second decision to take him back to my flat, and hope that he had a phone on him so that I could call someone to come and pick him up.
What was I getting myself into?
