DC Nightlife

Miscellaneous

Sucks. Just kidding. I can’t really base it off my one and only experience, but it will forever play a heavy role in future decision making.

This past Saturday night my roommates and I (5th roommate included) went to this bar/club in DC for a friend of a friend’s birthday. Now, I am FAR from being a club-goer, but I was lured in because I was told it was more of a lounge than a club before I agreed to go. Although this was kind of true…never mind. It wasn’t true; it was a club. I decided to take one for the team anyways, because all 4(5) of us haven’t been out together in a few weeks. I figured, “hey, I’ll get drunk enough so I can enjoy it.” That turned out to be a bad idea.

Now, I love wearing hats. It’s kind of a staple in my life. As we were walking up to this club, I could tell from the outside that they had a strict “no hat” rule, and that put a damper on the night. Luckily my intuition kicked in while we waited outside, so I was able to buff out my hat hair as best I could. We get up to the door, the lady with the clipboard asks if we’re here for someone who’s on the list (thank God we were, because it was a $20 cover charge if we weren’t, and I refuse to pay even a $5 cover charge at some places), we tell her yes, we start walking in, and sure enough they told me I couldn’t wear my hat. (I know, I know. Impressive, right?)

We get in to this place, and it’s exactly like the many reasons why I hate clubs:

  1. The uncomfortably loud music. It’s almost difficult to hold a conversation with your own self, let alone another individual.
  2. The god damn strobe lights. It’s like the machines knew everywhere I was going to look before I even did, thus blinding me wherever I turned.
  3. The dress code. This didn’t really bother me. A flannel and some khakis, essentially what I wore, is what I consider business casual when going out. I don’t feel the need to dress in slacks and a sports coat to have drinks with my friends, as was the situation with many people there.
  4. The dancing. I hate dancing. To me it’s awkward. You mean I have to awkwardly/creepily dance with a complete stranger before I can even talk to them? Yeah – no thanks.
  5. The heat. I don’t know if my body was used to the cold temperatures outside, but it was hotter than two squirrels fucking in a wool sock.

Then, there were reasons I added to the list as the night went on:

  1. I didn’t see a coat check anywhere, which meant I had to put my hat and jacket on top of a booth (MAJOR plot point).
  2. No seats. From what I recall, the only seats they had there were strictly for those who ordered bottle service. Essentially, it was $300 to sit.
  3. If using a card, you had to spend at least $20 minimum to close out your tab. In a time where a majority of peoples money is on a piece of plastic, you’re telling me I have to buy 3 beers/drinks to close out my tab? Fuck that.
  4. As it got more crowded, the smell of body odor became overwhelming. If I wanted to spend the night smelling funk the body produces under a lot of physical activity I would have gone to Gold’s Gym.

To spare you all from hearing me complain anymore, and myself for making me relive the situation, I’ll stop there. As the night went on, and the more and more drinks I got in my system, I began to “enjoy” it a little bit. (I put “enjoy” in quotes because the state of enjoyment was heavily effected by the alcohol). It’s about 2:45am and we all decide to leave. I go back to the booth where I set my hat and jacket and start the search. Moving jackets left and right, I finally come across my hat. I put it on, because fuck the rules, and continue to look for my jacket.

I never found my jacket. Fuck DC.

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