Escape to Paris

{1}

"Got any ID's, ladies?"

The bouncer uncrossed his arms and held out his hand to me, an evidently irritated look on his face as I hurriedly rummaged around in my purse to find my driving license, that I really hoped and prayed was still exactly where I left it when I pulled it out of my bag at the last bar that we went to. I've never lost anything on a night out, and I wasn't about to start now.

I glanced up at the bouncer with a sheepish smile hoping he would smile back, but instead all I saw was the exact expression that all bouncers pull on a night out, the 'you're definitely not over eighteen and I'm definitely going to catch you out and take your ID off you and ruin your night' kind of expression. I hated that expression.
It didn't just make me incredibly nervous, (even when I don't really have a reason to be since I am a twenty-three-year-old woman) but it also made me even more eager to find my ID so I could prove the bouncer wrong and wipe that smug, 'I-know-it-all' expression off of his face.

I turned to my best friend, who was also rifling through her jet-black fluffy shoulder bag, tampons and sanitary pads falling out at odd angles as she impatiently rifled through at top speed. I had to stop myself from snickering.
Out of the two of us, she would've been more than likely to lose her ID. She wasn't clumsier than me, definitely not. She was just very, very drunk.

"A-ha!" She exclaimed triumphantly, pulling out her provisional driving license ID with the name Rose Brown written on the front of it, "found it."

"I still can't find mine," I mumbled to myself, shoving my phone out of the way so I could dig deeper inside my purse. My fingers met all sorts of things whilst I was looking for my lost ID: flimsy five-pound notes, lipstick lids without the lipstick, and even a setting spray that I forgot I had taken out with me. I reminded myself to give my face a quick spray when I got in, as my makeup was definitely streaming down my face from the amount of sweat dripping from my skin. I had a feeling that I didn't look the best.

Rose looked at me with concerned 'hurry the fuck up' eyes as the bouncer checked over her ID. She probably already knew that if I had lost my ID, we would most likely have to pile ourselves into a taxi, juggling a pile of takeaways whilst simultaneously trying not to throw up as we drove all the way home; and I didn't want to be that one friend that would put a downer on a night out because we all had to go home early. Not me.

"Oi!" Someone shouted from behind us, "hurry the fuck up will 'ya!"

"Oh, put a sock in it, mate!" Rose roared back in her very broad Yorkshire accent, an accent I was very much used to by now.
I giggled whilst I reached down further into my purse, before I was met with a sleek, firm bit of plastic.

Relief washed over me as I pulled it out of my bag and handed it to the bouncer, a smug expression on my face as I simultaneously turned around to look at the man that shouted at us to hurry up. He seemed to be a person to worry about, as it looked like he had got into a fight due to a crimson red liquid smeared down his nose and all over his lips. I shivered and turned back around.

Patience is a virtue.

The bouncer looked back and forth between my ID and my face, probably trying his hardest to scare me into thinking I'm in trouble even though my ID is me and obviously will look a lot like me. He did this for a minute straight before handing it back to me and nodding for us to go through.

I grabbed Rose's hand as we piled through the doors towards the entrance of the club, lining up outside the front doors at the desk to pay an admission fee which would painfully cost you an arm and a leg. Ten pounds to go into a club with alcohol all over the floor, piss all over the sinks and people off their heads all night on drugs? Ridiculous. But will I still go and pay the admission fee? Of course.