When I Cried In Lakota

“I’ll spend my life wandering around Lakota, I’ll never leave.”

Although taken in Emily's room, this is a foreshadowing of how I looked in Lakota: terrified, possessed, and a little bit wavey. 

Let me just set the scene. We begin pre-drinking (or for any Grandparents reading this, pre-studying) at 11-ish, getting hyped for our night out to Lakota. Every few moments, Emily says ‘admit how cool my room is’ or I say ‘admit how nice this crop top is’, so there’s a lot of reassurance and admittings going around. We finally leave when our uber driver threatens to cancel on us if we don’t stop taking photos or topping up our drinks and actually just get in the car. So far, so normal.

My regular territory is the Triangle and occasionally branches out to SWX. I haven’t been to Lakota since Freshers. Unfortunately, I’d promised I’d come if they could find me a ticket around £10. Considering most of the tickets were selling for £20, I was pretty confident with my bluff. I had not taken into account Tash’s skills on Clifton and Stoke Bishop Tickets, so, alas, here I was, squished up in the back of an uber on the way to Lakota. In return, I’d been promised some edgy photos on Stokes Croft. In my defence, I don’t often get down to the artiest road in Bristol, so I though I’d take the opportunity to get some instragram-worthy graffiti shots whilst also doing shots.

I hadn’t taken into account the cold, so we end up just huddled in eachother’s jackets like penguins, braving the weather to get into the club. As soon as we get in, Ionia and I announce we’ll meet the others in the toilet. And this is where the nightmare begins. I have never encountered a women’s toilet this difficult to locate, and I’ve been to my fair share of women’s toilets in my life as a woman with a bladder. After approximately four hours (ok, maybe ten minutes) of pushing through rooms and rooms of wavey music and wavey crowds of wavey dancers, we admit defeat and end up using the portaloos in the smoking area, completely and utterly disorientated about where we are.

We attempt to call the others and describe where we are but the smoking area is potentially the size of Wales, with the population of India.  To make matters that much more wavey (eg. more of a mare), they are operating a one-way system in and out of the smoking area, making it pretty much impossible to agree a meeting point. I try begging the security to let us out through the entrance as we are entirely lost and just want to walk back the way we came, but they seem to have been trained in Callais.

Here we were at Pres: Innocent and Naive. (And yes, Em, your room is cool.) 

Later on in the night, I announce I have had enough of rubbing all my body parts against numerous strangers to move anywhere. We are back outside (as it seems all doors lead here) and Tash and I message everyone to let them know we will meet at the exit of the club. I grab Tash’s hand and march purposefully out of the smoking area through corridors and into the main dancefloor. I can see an exit sign in the distance like some mirage in a desert, and head there. I step on many a Reebok foot and elbow many an emblazoned FILA chest, I may also have two burst eardrums but it’s okay, I’m staying positive.

We finally push through a door, taking a deep breath of fresh air… only to realise this air actually isn’t so fresh. We are Back In The Smoking Area. I literally don’t know how, but Lakota’s architect must be a genius, as they have managed to create a building that, from the outside looks perfectly normal, but from the inside has doors that only lead back into the club or the Haven of Tobacco.

It is at this point that I burst into tears. Gazing at the wavey garms surrounding me, I accept that this is my new reality, these are the only people I will ever see again. I am never leaving Lakota. You know how on an amazing night out people say they’re never leaving? Well, here it could be factually true.

Some of the crew getting to grips with our New Reality: Life in the Lakota Smoking Area 

Okay, so if you’re still reading and haven’t branded me a complete psychopath, then you may have reached the conclusion that… Plot Twist: we did actually get out of Lakota. Turns out there were perhaps some doors that did lead out onto the street, but I was genuinely amazed we found them. In the Uber back (yes, we got another Uber, I had had a traumatic experience, alright), it arose that not everyone had had such a terrible time, and that certain members of the crew had actually enjoyed themselves, but I’m in denial about that.

Ionia enjoying the freedom of being outside the club. The graffiti reads 'Serve First Those Who Suffer Most', which basically means I should always get served first at the bar in Lakota.

Even if we did actually get out, consider this a public service announcement and prepare yourself. You may not be so lucky.

In conclusion, I think I’ll just stick with Lola’s.