Unfamiliar territory and a coupon for free drinks led me and my lady to a bar last weekend. Well, I thought it was a bar. It was (insert dramatic music)…A DANCE CLUB! I walked in and my blood began to leave my head. It was about as wide as a closet, the floor was covered with old beer and apparently wood glue, plus the music was loud enough to burst an eardrum. I immediately remembered why I don’t go clubbin’ anymore.
I decided to order the most expensive drink I could to use up the coupon we had and then escaped to a corner. The music was leaning very heavily J Lo and Pit Bull, but I observed the dance skills of the drunks and surmised they could have been playing Sepultura and Barney mash ups. My favorite was an overweight Asian girl in a skin tight whore dress grinding on a really intoxicated white guy who weighed maybe 130 lbs. Think DJ Qualls in Road Trip. She was tossing her hair back and using her ass as a weapon against him. His only skill was the classic hand on hip and try to keep up in the hopes she asked him to go back to her place.
I had enough and mercifully so had my girlfriend, so we went to leave. They switched our tab with someone else’s. Try and get a tab corrected with “Boom boom boom let me hear you say way-ooo, WAY-OOO!!!” at Nascar decibel levels. Plus the bitchy bartender wouldn’t be bothered to help the other one figure it out. Now I remember why I prefer to drink alone, in the dark, with just the voices in my head telling me who get revenge on. People outside my walls are crazy.