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| - Just. Ugh.
I got roped into going here with my 20-something coworkers, and I put on a brave face and went in the spirit of community. (I've been here before but it's been awhile.) We first went up to the third-floor entrance, where we were turned away and told to go downstairs. After going through the ID check, then the second ID check, then the first line, then the second line, we could see people being let in on the third floor. I guess we weren't dressed well enough for him? (Well, my co-workers were dressed to the nines, anyway. I had left my Hot Girl Disguise back in my twenties.)
I suppose some people enjoy being crammed into a room, paying $11 for a miniscule amaretto sour, being eye-level with the scantily-clad buttocks of a go-go dancer in fur boots, or literally being shoved out of the way by a staff member because it was very important that the whole club know that someone bought a bottle of Grey Goose. (They up-light it with a flashlight as it makes its way through the dance floor, I guess so we can all Ooh and Ahh as it floats by.)
That night Mario Lopez (of A.C. Slater/Dancing with the Stars fame) was supposed to be hosting an event. I didn't see much hosting, in fact I didn't see much of anything. He was up in the VIP area hanging out, and I couldn't even get close enough to see one curl on his head. Being a Saved By The Bell fan at heart, being able to see him or wave at him or something would have at least made the experience kind of redeeming, but no dice.
I lasted until 12:45, at which point I excused myself and found the coworkers my own age drinking beer on a neighboring bar's patio like regular people. And I think that's where I'll be staying from now on.
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