The Very Minute I Realized I’m Too Old for Nightclubs.

My sister and my best friend were in town this weekend, and I got talked into going to a nightclub for the first time in nearly a year. At first, dressing up and having some sophisticated conversation over cosmos and apple martinis sounded like a wonderful idea. But it was not to be. While I was envisioning classy lounge, my sister was thinking dirty club, and in usual fashion, she got her way. The result was alternating bouts of tedium and horror. But in the spirit of making everyone as miserable as me, I decided to write a sales pitch anyways. Unfortunately, I believe in truth in advertising:

Do you enjoy 200 hundred half naked unwashed bodies writhing in front of you to the horrible beat of some underground rap? No? What if I told you that you there would be overpriced, watered down alcohol to go with it? Still not interested? Well, you just haven’t heard the best part. If you sign up now, all of these sights can be yours:

  • Men wearing sunglasses indoors, at 2:00 am, in an underground club.
  • Twenty girls, ranging from 75 pounds to 400 pounds, wearing the exact same orange H&M dress, and all in size small.
  • More rainbow colored hair than a My Little Pony conference.
  • The pungent stench of body musk and weed wafting from the dance floor.
  • A drunk guy dry humping an even drunker girl in a dark, but not at all private corner near the bathroom.
  • The tiny melodrama that plays out as some douchebag starts arguing with his friends, then the bartender, then the bouncer, and finally the sidewalk once his ass is pitched out the door.

Want to sit down? That’s too bad, because all those empty stools are for the VIP tables. Need to use the bathroom? So do the other 50 girls in the bathroom line. Oh, and it looks like someone broke one of the two toilets. Hope you don’t mind waiting 30 minutes for a chance to squat over a filthy seat. Rather be at home reading? Well, before you go, try your best to dodge the piles of sweaty men blocking only entrance/exit, their palms outstretched, their fingers extended, and the news of your impending grope written on their face.

All for the ridiculous price of a $15 cover! Well, what are you waiting for? Put on your cheapest dress, your most uncomfortable pair of heels, and meet me at the door in fifteen!


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