In The Times, I read about mephedrone (also known as meow-meow). It was legal in England at the time. I wanted in, so I bought one gram online.
I didn’t take it until I had two days off work in a row. Then I mixed a little of the mephedrone with water and drank it. It tasted awful, and worse still, it seemed to have no effect on me. I took a little more. Still no effect. Annoyed at this, I then decided to carry on with my day. On my agenda was to get a haircut. So twenty minutes later, I was sitting in the barbers’ waiting area when the drug kicked in. There was no doubt about it. It was happening. Everything became more “real” and more vibrant. There was a bit of euphoria too. I was excited. The barber called me over for my haircut. I sat in his chair and looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes were wide. I started grinding my teeth. I asked for my head to be shaved.
The customer next to me was talking about how he hated his job. “You should try being a postman!” I said aloud. Everyone laughed. I was being social!
When the hairdresser had finished, I asked him … “Can you shave it… shorter?” I wanted to look cool, and I thought shaved heads were cool. Also, his hands felt nice on my head. He looked troubled. His colleague looked troubled. Perhaps they thought I was trolling them. “Don’t worry,” I reassured him, “I’ll give you a good tip.”
After he’d finished, I paid and gave a £2 tip. Then as I walked out the door, I turned and said, “Here’s another tip: eat more vegetables.” Man, was I cool.
Even though my completely shaved head made me look like Jason Statham (read: Richard O’Brien), I wanted to be even cooler. Therefore I went into River Island and picked up a pair of sunglasses. Then as I walked towards the exit with the sunglasses in my hand, I tore off the security tag and threw it on to the ground. Without breaking my stride, I walked out the shop like a boss.
Next up was a coat. I went into Gap and asked if they had coats in my size. The shop assistant let me look through a catalogue. Her colleague asked her, “Is everything alright?” She nodded to her colleague, in the same way a negogiator nods to the police to say, “Don’t intervene; I have the situation under control for now.”
Later I got in my car, but when I began to drive away, I scratched the side of my car against a pillar. I got out. People stopped and watched. “Oh fuck,” I said to myself. Then I got back in and drove off.
By then the drug was wearing off. Worse than that: I was crashing. I don’t mean I crashed my car, although that could have easily happened, thanks to my terrible driving made ten times worse by the mephedrone. No, I was coming down from the drug.
What people don’t tell you about stimulants is that they cause a comedown a few hours later. It’s the equivalent of a hangover, but worse. Kelechukwu Okereke, the lead singer of Bloc Party, described comedowns as, “A flatness so bleak, I’ve been bitten by a vampire. A flatness bleaker than the one it replaced”.
I didn’t want the drug to wear off. I enjoyed being extroverted. So I drove around infamously seedy parts of Bournemouth looking for drug dealers. But I couldn’t see any. Please god, don’t make me go back to the way I was, I thought.
Anyway, the drug wore off, and I went back to the way I was.