As I washed my hands amidst a bunch of girls clad in lycra chatting on cell phones, I found myself thinking of a post I’d written about a year and a half prior about my experiences at the very same club. About how I’d spent more money than I would ever hope to in one night (and I was barely tipsy), about my friend who had showed up fifteen minutes late after driving an hour to arrive couldn’t get to the club despite the fact that it was still half empty, about how I was spending way too much time avoiding eye contact with men with popped collars. As such, I present to you my six (previously noted) reasons why I haven’t the slightest clue I still return to clubs.

#1- The whole worship-the-bouncer expectations. Somehow, by giving a select few individuals the power to decide who is admitted into a club and who has to wait in line and who does not, we have also given these bouncers superiority in all other realms of life. Now, I understand that some of them are merely doing their jobs, and also have to do a lot of dirty work, including kicking out drunk and angry folk. However, I resent the fact that I am supposed to flirt with them to skip a line-up, am not supposed to bring any men if I really really want to skip the line (which is often just a facade, anyways, as I will comment on later), and am never to protest any unfair treatment on their behalf. I also resent the ridiculous bribes they will demand from men or women who choose not to flirt with them to surpass these lines. It is just so crazy that getting into a club is enough to bestow these people with this power.

#2- The club strip. Where I live, there is one primary club strip that gets taken over by drunken twenty somethings every Friday and Saturday night. Somehow, the norms changes on these two nights of the week, such that random groping of strangers is acceptable, and the way to show someone you are interested in them is through a high pitched “wooooooo!”. It also becomes acceptable to leave one’s drunk barefooted friend passed out on the curb in order to flirt (I seriously saw this once. My friend got yelled at to mind her own business when she tried to intervene.) Not to mention the deceptive line-ups that dominate the street starting at around 10pm, which you are obligate to wait in for at least half an hour for the honour of paying to get into a club that is still empty.

#3- Prices- This needs little explanation. I know we Canadians still don’t need to pay the prices that one has to in order to gain entrance into clubs in more prolific cities like New York or London– but our clubs are nowhere near that good. Last night I paid $14 to get into a club because some DJ I’d never heard of was paying. Plus $3 for the mandatory service of storing my coat. Plus insanely overpriced drinks that you can finish off in two gulps– and then you have to tip your bartender really well if you want to get decent service next time around. Those breast implants didn’t pay for themselves, you know!

#4- Crowds. You might as well get in line before you even feel the inkling to pee, because you will have to go by the time you get to the front on the line. And apparently full force shoving a complete stranger is fully acceptable when you really really need to get to the dance floor in a hurry (OMG! It’s my song!)

#5- Drunk girls who need attention. Any semi-decent looking woman who is not wearing a potato sack will get hit on in a club. It’s just a fact (see point #6). Admittedly, I do try to make myself look a little more fabulous that usual– but that means a nice pair of earring and a tank top. Not half a foot high high heels that you can barely walk in while sober and a skirt that doesn’t cover your ass. Even worse is those who, even in the micro-mini, have not managed to pick up yet (I’m really in awe as to how this is even possible!)… about half an hour before closing time, predictably, the pseudo-lesbianism will begin– a guaranteed attention getter.

For example, in the bathroom of the club I was in last night, there is a little lounge area with chairs across from floor-to-ceiling mirrors. My friend came out from the bathroom with a disgusted look on her face. Apparently, a girl in a tiny leopard print dress who I had observed getting more drunk and over the top as the night went on had decided to take the typical man-watching-TV stance on one on the chair… legs spread wide open… nothing underneath… in front of an enormous mirror. Yikes.

#6- Last, but not least, is the other side of the club meat market– the men. I could write an entire post about the various lame pick-up attempts experienced and witnessed. Prime examples- the guy who followed me around screaming “Fuck you!” for an entire evening after I turned him down; the guy who threatened me after I told him to leave my married friend alone; the guy who thought it would be seductive to blow on me… hard… multiple times… after I mentioned I was feeling hot (he was seriously getting out of breath and even followed me, still puffing away, when I tried to leave).

The funniest thing about all these attempt is that they must have worked one time for men to continue trying them so persistently. I really hate that girl who slept with the guy who randomly grabbed her ass on the dance floor.

This entry was posted on Monday, November 24th, 2008 at 2:22 am and is filed under Princess sayz, seriously?!, twentysomething. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.