14 DAY TRIAL // It all began on a cold winter night, Saturday to be more specific. I hadn't been out for a looong time. Because I'm focusing on my career, that's why! Bullshit, I'm just too lazy. Anyways, I managed to drag my ass out of the house for what was planned to be an electric Digweed night in a cool club.
Got there just in time for an easy access? or so I thought. Couldn't be more wrong. To make a long story short, I've been freezing my behind for about an hour in front of the 'temple', while people kept on coming out, which raised some questions, like "Is there a fire?", "Have they run out of space?" or even "No more Digweed, huh?". But no, it was just very bad event management.
Anyways, it wasn't a completely non-educational hour. Surrounded by about 80-100 peers, I smoked half-a-pack of cigarettes and enjoyed the view. Oh, what a view! You have no idea what people are capable of, in the name of fashion? And so it happens that, in my personal humble opinion, this "month's" trends are oh so stupid. We basically went back to the 80s, thank heavens without the shoulder pads. Except that, it's all there. Anyways, while proudly wearing the exact same things I use to wear everyday at work (well, maybe not the same things, I do change and wash them once in a while), I took a look around and saw the most pathetic display of cheap, silvery-golden, plastic, furred and colorful? people, I guess. No, I'm almost certain they were people, well, most of them anyways.
There were anorexic or overweight (rarely in between) young ladies in "a quest to cover the ass" skirts and heavy furred boots, with big hair and tons of make-up, desperately trying to prove they actually had tits in that cleavage and not just a sponged bra, while heroically carrying a huge fur twice their weight (to match the heavy furred boots, of course). That's just one example; allow me not to waste your time anymore. But, still, there is something else that caught my attention and I cannot let it slip: The Golden Shoes? on a guy's feet. A good-looking young man, the metrosexual type, wearing golden shoes. Believe it or not, it's not a pretty picture, ok? But that's only my opinion, because this "golden god of fashion" was surrounded by a bunch of ecstatic chicks and dudes, humble and trembling (-2 degrees Celsius, did I mention that?), worshiping every word coming out of his mouth? while he was on the phone with some other 'golden god', I guess. Embarrassing even to look at, not to mention? Oh well, I'll get over it.
At some point, the miracle happened and I entered the club. It wasn't easy, though. I had to get past the usual huge, ugly and more often than never stupid guys at the door. They asked for my ID. I know it's a common thing to do, but the way it happened was quite amazing. The guy looked down at me, actually not at me, but at the place where my tits should have been if I was to adapt to the clubbin' outfit nowadays, and that would be somehow hangin' out of my blouse. But, surprise, they were not there, because I have this annoying habit of keeping them to myself, under the blouse that is. So, it was definitely a sign that I was either a man or underage, so the ugly guy asked for my ID, while lots of tits? err, legal aged young ladies were elegantly walking by.
I got over that too. So, after paying a ridiculous price, I entered the holy shrine of good-times. And so did other hundreds (if not thousands) of people before me, as I was soon to find out.
Then began another desperate quest, that of placing my coat at the wardrobe. I won't bore you with the details, all I have to say is that after another half-an-hour of smelling some bad breaths and armpits of people engaged in the same struggle, and after paying another significant amount of money - as bribe - my coat was somewhere, thrown over some other coats.
But hey, I was finally freed of all earthly concerns, ready to let myself go and surrender to the rhythm. Freed my ass, for very soon I encountered another minor extremely earthly issue to deal with: I had to breathe. But what?! There was nothing there to breathe, no air whatsoever. Remember those hundreds I was tellin' you about? They were all there, breathing my air on a surface of 10 square meters. But why?, I wondered. This is a huge club, why aren't they inside, having the time of their life?
I was very soon to understand. Because inside, in the actual club, there were many, many, many more.
Before taking you with me inside, I do find it important to mention just how many times I wanted to spit on somebody, kick some fat, smelly, pimpled fourteen-year-old with terrible hair-cut, step on the pointy shoes of some f**k-me-and-don't-forget-to-pay-me chick, or, ultimately, just turn around and go home? But then I thought 'I made it through here, it can't be that bad".
Oh yes it can! Just remembering makes me never wanna leave the house, at least for a hundred years or so. Briefly: went in, at about 2 a.m in the morning, no Digweed, fought my way to the bar, got a beer, found a place in the crowd, had two sips of the cold drink, which rapidly became a hot drink, watched some ladies shaking their assets on some cubes, danced a little, understood why people wear sunglasses in the club (the light flashes almost blinded me, so I warmly recommend biker helmets, glasses won't do the trick), Digweed came in, did his thing (nicely, nothing to comment upon that), I managed to smoke a cig without hurting anybody, watched a fainted blonde as she was taken out by some guys, realized we are nothing but animals, which explains why the owners of the club treated us accordingly - no air conditioning, and, most important, why Digweed had not the basic common sense to say at least 'hello' when he first appeared.
Finally, I made a Cartman style exit ("Screw you guys, I'm goin' home", for those who don't know what I'm talkin' about), got my coat (amazing, I was almost certain I'd never see it again), jumped in a cab and went home, thankful I was still alive.
Bottom line, I felt like a sheep, and I'm not planning to feel like one anytime soon. If that's trendy and clubbin these days, people, than screw trendy and clubbin.
Oh, almost forgot. The golden shoes guy stood outside freezing his behind as well; actually, he went in after me. And that tells me golden shoes kinda get you nowhere.
