IN DA CLUB

A few weeks ago, I went to a late dinner — Montreal, 10PM, steakhouse— with a dear friend of mine.

It was $29 for an appetizer (caesar salad), main (steak, duh), and coffee or tea. There was coleslaw (complimentary refills) as well — tangy and fresh.

Anyways, we were on the last sips of our late-night caffeine when he asked if I’d be down to check out a club down the street — one of his good friends was having a good time there.

“Uh, for sure man let’s do it.”

I’ve been clubbing once in my life — someone’s birthday, a long time ago. I don’t really drink, and I could do without large crowds as well.

So with that in mind, let me walk you through how the rest of our evening unfolded…

We settled up and walked over to the place, which was only a few minutes away.

There was a big line outside when we got there. The energy was palpable — highlighted by a “MOROCCO” chant.

Luckily for us, our inside man “got bottles”. I was told this meant he had secured a booth inside, and anyone in his party (haha) would be able to skip the line.

A good start…

BOUNCED

…or was it ???

Bottle Guy came to meet us outside. He embraced my friend, shook my hand, and we all headed for the door.

A bouncer (absolute unit) greeted us. Bottle Guy put his hands up, and was pat down. My friend did the same, and the two of them were ushered through.

It was my turn — or so I thought. I walked up to the bouncer, arms raised above my head. His response was something like this:

He said to wait, and it was probably a minute or two before he finally got around to frisking me. It didn’t seem like he found anything in my pants…

CASH ONLY

There were stairs inside, and I climbed them quickly to catch up.

When I reached the top, a big dude was telling Bottle Guy that my friend and I would still need to pay a $9 cover. We started pulling out our credit cards.

It was pretty dark inside, but I saw a look of disgust take over Big Dude’s face when he saw the plastic in our hands. His exasperation was confirmed when he sighed something like “cash only — y’all don’t have cash?”.

Who even uses cash anymore ???

We didn’t, but a $20 bill materialized in Bottle Guy’s hand — I owe you.

INTRODUCTIONS

Three guys were sitting at Bottle Guy’s table.

We all shook hands, shouting our names into one another’s ears. I forgot almost right away, so let’s describe them instead:

Guy 1 — Short-sleeve polo, glasses.

Guy 2 — Short-sleeve button up (which became increasingly unbuttoned over time), glasses, biceps.

Guy 3 — Thinning hair but thick beard, tucked-in shirt.

There were a bunch of girls in the booth beside ours, but none of them acknowledged — or seemed to even notice— my existence when I arrived.

In an effort as to not bother them with my face then, I avoided looking in their direction for the rest of the night — hence, no descriptions.

BOTTLES

Let’s talk about the alcohol for a second.

When my friend and I got there, there was still a bottle or two (was it Grey Goose?) inside the ice bucket on the table.

Guy 1 asked me what I drank. I told him “anything” because I didn’t know — and I wasn’t about to pull the I-don’t-drink-card so quickly after Bottle Guy had paid for me to be up here.

So Guy 1 handed me some orange drink.

IMPENETRABLE

I spent much of my time in the club that night hovering around the booth. Sometimes I stood, sometimes I sat — regardless of stance, I mostly just stared at nothing in particular.

Guy 1 came up to me at some point. He had just returned from an exploratory expedition to the dance floor, and was pleased to report an abundance of “cuties” out there.

There was a crowd around the DJ, one that I didn’t even come close to entering. Guy 1 made it in somehow, and I wished him the best as I walked back to the comforts of the booth.

OLD TOWN ROAD

Everyone went crazy when this song came on.

I was going crazy myself at that point too, but only because I was struggling to figure out why I my sleeves were never even when I rolled them up.

AN UNGRACEFUL DEPARTURE

I was staring intensely at my shoes when my friend told me we had an Uber coming — yes!

I engaged in a final round of handshakes and hugs with Bottle Guy, Guy 1 (who had returned), Guy 2, and Guy 3.

I then proceeded to look for my jacket and by the time I located it, my friend was nowhere to be found. I wandered off to search for the exit, but I wasn’t able to find that either.

A fire exit in a strangely empty corner of the club seemed promising and so I pushed it open — half expecting an alarm to go off. There was no alarm, and I began my descent down the stairs.

Almost right away, I heard someone calling out at me from behind. I turned around and saw a security dude, who beckoned for me to come back up — I complied.

He asked me where I was going — a subtle smirk on his face. As nonchalantly as possible, I told him I was thinking about heading out.

Placing a strong hand on my hip, he chaperoned me to the actual exit. I thanked him — surely this happened all the time, right?

I took one last look at the scene behind me, and my gaze strayed back towards where the booth was. Maybe my friend was there again?

He was not, but my eyes did meet Guy 2’s for a moment.