Nightclubs – I’m Over It
I’m not sure if it’s the same for everyone, but I feel like once you pass a certain hump in your 20s, you’re suddenly just ‘over’ going to nightclubs. The whole thing just seems like a lot to do. It’s not that you’re too sophisticated or fancy, but sometimes you just want a bit of fine dining, rather than a bassline repeatedly pummeling into your very soul. I hit this at about 23, then again at 25, then was over it for sure at 26. So what is it about the nightclub environment that just gets tiresome?
Don’t get me wrong – in the late 90s, early 2000s, you could find me ‘in da club’ a few nights a week, raving it up, letting the sweet sounds of UK Garage wash over me. Those were some crazy good times. But then people started shooting places up anytime So Solid or some such artists were performing and it just all got a bit ‘meh’. But any club I have been to or will go to in the future (on the very rare occasions I do), it’s a combination of these factors that routinely pisses me off:
If your one job is to put people’s names on a list and you can’t even get that right, it’s time to go on a course to get yourself some work skills. There has quite seriously only been one time in my life when my name has been on a list I’ve been told it should be on. ONE TIME. I get that I have a complicated name, I get that people will spell it one of 6472 ways, but how long must I stand here debating the point? Is it really a threat to national security if you let me in without my name being on there? And what’s with the multiple guest list thing? ‘Who’s list are you on?’ I don’t frikkin’ know, YOU have the clipboard, you tell me! Ugh. OVER IT.
Nightclub security searches lie at opposing ends of the spectrum from ‘let me glance inside your handbag’ to ‘we just have to give you a quick internal cavity search.’ I’ve been to a couple of clubs where you had to walk through a metal detector to get inside (which, incidentally, did not make me feel safe, at all). I’ve have ‘pat down’ searches where I felt I’d been violated in any number of ways and I’ve had the ‘handbag glace’ that has convinced me I could be carrying a meat cleaver in there and they wouldn’t even notice. Surely there should be some sort of set standard for searches.
Side note: Also, someone needs to tell these nightclub security dudes that they ain’t on the police force.
I don’t drink or do drugs, so I’ve always been stone cold sober in nightclubs and lemme tell ya, this should be where amateur dramatics societies do their recruiting. Even if you’re not involved in the drama, it is rare for a club night to go down without it. Girl fights, guy fights, gang fights, break ups, the obligatory ‘are you looking at my girlfriend?’ stare down, etc etc. At what point do you just get sick of this nonsense?
Everyone is on heat in nightclubs. I won’t lie, somewhere in the back of my mind, I used to think I’d find my future mate there. That he’d just walk right past that girl whose vagina was clearly on show and whisk me off into the sunset. Never happened. What did happen however, were plenty of guys who thought ramming their boner into me while trying to dance seductively, hoping I would go home with them. Never did. Have a raging boner all you want, but the BO produced by the nightclub sweats will never get you laid homie. Lesson.
I am somewhat astounded that there are still people who put themselves through this every week. That’s not to say I haven’t had myself some fantastic times in clubs but count me all the way out of doing it regularly. What tickles me is that on the rare occasions I go to a club now, all the above things are still going on. Ahh, some things never change.