A Few Characteristics of a Lame Night Club.

Where’s the real action? Where’s the life in the night life? Certainly, you don’t always want to go to the townie bar night after night.  Because well, then your boring as hell, and/or a drug dealer.  So you get that itch in your pants and head off to the club dressed like that Miami Vice type of drug dealer to feel oh so superior to the townie.

We do pay for that feeling don’t we?  Cover charges, inflated liquor prices and  mostly  uncovered expensive broads who in one way or another are also inflated.

Yep, good times.  The trouble is that your paying to feel cool when in many cases you’re not.  Some clubs are just the cat’s meow, the bees knees, the cute de grace to one naivety.  But, they are usually found in huge populations where people go more to see than to be seen.

Most clubs are overly pretentious, overdressed, poser-ass commercial debauchery.  Don’t get me wrong, there are some great clubs that fit that description as well but if the dance floor resembles  a Jr. high dance, the wardrobe screams catalog conformity and you have heard the music on the radio then… Ya dope.   A apathetically expressed “Ya dope” means your lame.  The club is lame.

If you were to go mattress surfing behind a ATV, play Dungeons and Dragons with your hippie aunt or crank it six straight hours to Jenna Jamison, you would be way cooler just for having some sort of creativity.

Most of the time people go there to seek out the opposite sex in hunting parties.  But when one looks back, isn’t that seen commonly looked at a little too optimisticly?   How many people do you know met their significant other at a club?  How many people do you know who have A. met their stalker B. Ended up getting the herp or C. spent their entire paycheck on someone they met at the club or even worse, on the stupid shot girls for nada?

I’m going to use a certain club as an example of the stupid ploys some managers do to feed this monster aura of self-centered-ness and haunting inadequacy that shroud a lot of dating scenes.  In other words, everyone seems to have to go out to act as if they are the shiznit, (Yes, “shiznit” good, “dope” bad) and it is enforced because these nightclubs keep pushing the idea that they’re patrons aren’t good enough for them.   These pin head doormen, and ho bag hostess’s seem to get off of the fact that they control who and when enters their snazzy club.

Nigga Paleeze, first off, this is Tampa.  In general, they can’t dance. It’s true. If it weren’t for the Spanish population they’d make everyone where padded helmets on the dance floor.   The Dj’s are typically out dated as Baywatch.  It seems every one of them has happened to buy the same Bar Mitzvah Rock collections off the television at 3 in the morning.  All the accustic weilding cover bands have unbeleivably similar play lists.  Yes that’s right, every other band does the exact same wacky rendition of “What I Got” by Sublime.  And “blister in the sun”, no more a zany surprise, it too it playyyyyed.
AND LADIES, your not that hot. Your style has been done, it’s ok, you don’t live in Milan or New York, so drop the act already.

Ok, so the club, like many others  They have a line out front at 10:30.  Giving anyone they can trouble about shoes, hats, sometimes just making up things.  They had to have chased away at least 10 kids.  They also do this cute trick with holding people on lines. A lot of clubs have been doing lately. They sometimes do it in Manhattan too, which you would think is even stupider, because they are a million clubs there if you have balls to look for them. Yet it won’t hurt club, the posers always remain.

One line for girls, and guys with girls, then a line for the boys, I know you don’t want a sausage party when you get inside, it’s understandable.  But see, In this instance I already had a sneaking suspicion about something, and after waiting 20 minutes to get in I came to realize it to be true.  The shit hole was empty.

They used us as an illusion, to have poor bastards stand on line in front of the building to make it look like it was rocking.  They even asked me if I had reservations, “because it’s a private club now.”  I asked the girl if they offered tee times, or table side dining. She didn’t reply, just sat there like you would expect, pretty and vacant.  I really just wanted to say, “What  are you offering for it to be a private club?”  But it would be a waste of time, they didn’t offer anything.  It was just another gimmick to ad to the aura for people who needed to feel cool.

The membership thing is for the guys in their late thirties early forties to justify their lecherous hunt for 20 year olds.  Perhaps they pay a “membership” don’t wait in line, get a discount on a bottle or two.   Now they are a member, and all the gold digging or easily inebriated college chicks just happen to come to their club.

It is also another way of belittling the rest of their clientele.  The subconsious feels slighted. “Well I am not a member, but I’ll show you and spend a hundred bucks tonight.”   A subtle jab at ones pride that forces the subconscious to open that wallet.

The place picked up a little, but remained pretty lame.  All the tables had reserved signs on them, so no one could sit down.  The tables remained empty for the entire night.  It’s sadly sucessful reverse psychology.  Alienate your customers enough that they think it is a privilege to be there and therefore willing to pay ten bucks a drink.
So what’s the big deal?  The deal is that, the people who put up with such unjustified snobbery feel justified to now be assholes in their own right. Which gives me the opportunity to bring to the limelight the “Uh-oh turnaround.”

I’ve seen it done to my friends, from a distance to strangers.  I have never made a habit of just walking up and dancing with somebody without introducing myself so I have never been a victim. Until now.
I was dancing by my lonesome, and of course there were a few sets of strumpets dancing with each other like strippers with the shakes doing whatever they can to convince themselves that they are the hottest thing on earth.  One of the darlings had invaded my space and bumped into me a few times.  So I change my direction to face them. I hadn’t even gotten the chance to move when I see her friend look at me, mouth ” UH-OH” then grabbed her friends’ shoulders and turned her away from me.
So the gentleman I am, leaned over to the girl who switched spots with her friend to wall me out and calmly said to her, “Excuse me? You don’t “uh-oh” turn around me, are you kidding me?”
Seriously, you dress like a slut, dance like a slut, and you bump into guys and if they look at you, you act like a bitch.  That’s the game a lot of these little packs play.  Do anything to get the guys attention and once they do, rebuff them like they’re a leper.  They are too busy contemplating in their heads which one of them is which Sex in the City character.

She looked at me in shock, I continued, “Go, your dismissed, get out of here,” and they scurries away only to ironically fall victim to another frequent club character.
The guy there who can’t dance but thinks he’s really good. The Serial Dancer. Yeah, he about chased the girls off the floor.  He’s the guy you uh-oh turn around.  Actually every girl kept going to the other side of the floor when he attacked.
Seriously, who are you dude? If they keep leaving that means you suck, and now the guys standing around you who actually had a chance to dance with the girls are looking at you not because they are jealous of your skilllz, but they are rather contemplating punching you in the face.
Lame ass clubs piss me off.