The Union Bar: Sober vs. Intoxicated

The Bop: Disneyland if you’re drunk, a chaotic zoo if you’re sober…

It’s fair to say that St Andrews isn’t known for its nightlife, if you are going to university to party, you don’t come here. Despite not having any clubs, (The Lizard is NOT a club) I have always quite enjoyed going out.

My favourite nights are ones spent at the Union. Just picture it – you arrive after having spent the last two hours having a jolly good time at your friend’s flat. Now you’re ready to have a couple of very reasonably priced messy bombs while you have some intellectual conversations with very attractive, interesting and intelligent people. You can hardly turn around without seeing someone you know, aren’t I just the in-demand socialite?

Tired from all the mingling I take a seat, in the section where the decoration makes you feel like you’re on the set of ‘Have I Got News For You.’ Since the seating is raised its excellent for people watching, also – it gives others who haven’t seen you yet another opportunity to spot you and come over to say hi. Such fun!

And then one more messy bomb. While you’re queuing you can have chat to some more people. Everyone is so lovely! Then it’s time for the Bop. Some of the best times of my life have been had in the Bop. It’s so minimalistic and simple – a DJ and a dance floor, what else do you need? There’s also just the right amount of space for doing the Beyoncé ‘Single Ladies’ dance without putting your back out. The Bop is also a great place to go if you want to pretend to be a pop star – you can sing along to all the chart music at the top of your lungs and no one will judge you.

My favourite part of any Union night though, has got to be toward the end, when everyone is feeling really happy, and then people start stripping. Twenty-five football/rugby guys with their tops off jumping up and down in unison? Yes, please.

Of course, when I’m at the Union I’ve normally had a few drinks (hammered), so I thought it would be a fun social experiment to go on a night out sober, for journalistic purposes.

There was drama at the door because I couldn’t find my student card and the bouncer, who was clearly impatient and tired, was hurrying me and which made me take longer. He then told me to “step aside love” while I looked for it; I got all these smug looks from people who had their cards ready and were going straight through. Where are all the lovely people I always meet? I felt like I had been sent out of the class by the teacher. 

After pushing my way through hundreds, no– thousands of people to get to the bar, I was given a plastic cup with a pathetic amount of a strange brown-looking substance which tasted like a mixture between petrol and piss (ok, so I’ve never actually tasted petrol or piss, but if I had to imagine what it tasted like, it would be a messy bomb). Why aren’t they making the yummy, sophisticated cocktail I usually have? While I was concentrating on not throwing up the revolting concoction I had just ingested I was approached by a less-than-sober acquaintance who slurred that we ‘need to meet for a catch up soon’ before spilling a gin and tonic down my front.

On my walk to the bathroom (to clean the now several spills down my front) I noticed for the first time that the Union is terribly decorated, one side of the room resembles a cheap Ikea shower curtain and the other looks like a nursery school’s attempt at paper maché.

I then went through to the Bop, which was arguably the worst decision of my life. The Bop is essentially a really big room with a DJ and a disco ball – hardly the exciting and glamorous party venue I remembered. It was half empty and there were several groups of people dancing as if their lives depended on it. When I said you can sing along and no one will judge you, I take it back. I judge me. You have to be on a different planet to enjoy cheesy pop music as much as some of the people there.

I was on the dance floor, bashfully bobbing along to ‘Mambo Number Five’ when suddenly I found myself in the middle of a group of drunk, naked guys chanting and waving their tops around. There were so many of them that I literally couldn’t escape. I tried pushing them aside but they were so sweaty my hand just slipped off. Then I was slapped across the face by a rogue, soggy t-shirt. What had I done to deserve this?

After that ordeal I was thinking I would stay 10 more minutes, then I overheard a girl shouting to a guy ‘why don’t you love me?’ followed by another girl slipping in a patch of vomit that I decided it was definitely time to go.

I have concluded that the Bop is Disneyland for the drunk but nothing more than a chaotic zoo if you are sober.

Photo © Oli Walker