Day 4

Lesson 18: Listen to the club promoters in Leicester Square

Each night that my roommates and I go out in Leicester Square (basically a cleaner, safer version of Times Square) we are attacked by club promoters trying to makeout with us slash pimp out their respective clubs to us. We had heard of this club called Verve and figured we'd go check it out. On our way there we were told by a few different promoters that Verve was not "poppin." Being the stubborn Americans that we are, we just assumed they were saying that so as to get us to go to their clubs. False. They were dead on. Not only was this place dead, but I'm pretty sure all British preteen athletic teams had just come for a post-game Indian food party......an interesting concoction of BO and various other stenches. We left immediately. There should be at least a 5 minute money-back warranty on cover charges for bars. What a waste.

Lesson 19: Not all British people are proper, and a slight reversal of Lesson 7

After our long night of barhopping and crying because earlier in the night I killed my knee after running into a door doing the "greased up deaf guy," we were on a mission to get home. There were absolutely NO cabs to be found. We walked a few blocks over hoping to find something. But still nothing. After 20 minutes of wandering around the streets of London around 3:30am (don't worry parents, it was well-lit and I was wearing stilettos that should be registered as deadly weapons) we FINALLY flagged down a cab. Before I could even finish telling the driver where we were going (they don't let you get in unless you do that) he cocked his fat head to the side and said, "ehhh Awy don't fink awy'm going in thaht dawyrection" and was off. Are you fucking kidding me??? If Eliza Doolittle could learn to speak, one might think a cabbie could, but no. Evidently cabbies go through like 5 years of training to be a driver, but they couldn't manage to teach him to pick up 5 girls in the middle of the night. After about 20 more minutes of wandering around we hailed down another cab. HOWEVER, and that is a VERY BIG HOWEVER, while I was telling the cabbie where we were going, two big bags of douche pushed through my friends as they were starting to get into the cab and stole it from us. They refused to get out and the driver didn't do shit. Needless to say they got some words and a few different hand gestures from us. I hope they crashed and were forced to suffer through a massive explosion, dying a slow and painful burning death.

Lesson 20: Knock on the door of Flat 25 at any hour of the night, someone will answer

The flat directly above us is also a UMD flat with 3 girls and 2 guys. Even though there are the same amount of people as us, their apartment is twice the size of ours. Then again if I was living with a couple of frat boys I would prefer to have as much space as possible too. But that's besides the point. Their apartment has turned into the go-to place whenever we get back from the bars at night...even when we don't go out with them. So after the past hour of attempting to find a cab home, we had to share our stories with our friends upstairs. Circa 4am we run upstairs and start knocking on the door--it was answered eventually, by a friend (who doesn't even live there). We barged in immediately and ran into our friends' bedroom to wake them up so they would party with us. After ripping their sheets off and a few minor attempts at pantsing them, the guys were game for a post-game. We didn't get to bed until 6am.