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| - After being dragged here numerous times by a friend who, for some reason, loves PCL, I never changed my opinion about it:
Stink.Stank.Stunk.
Let's start with the whole "I've got claustrophobia" problem. I am not comfortable in small spaces. So, naturally, this ridiculousy tiny one-room "club" that lacks the normal required amount of space and oxygen was automatically uncomfortable for me. Add the fact that there is absolutely nowhere to sit unless you're "VIP" which, after people-watching for a few hours, obviously stands for Very Idiotic Patrons- and you have a horrid experience which is made worse by the snobby bartenders who ignore your pleading stares while they flirt with the other bartenders behind the bar that's brimming with increasingly hostile (and thirsty) customers.
The women are young, dumb, slutty and drunk. This, in turn, attracts the men who are painfully obvious about their mission to get laid; from their relentless staring down of every chick who passes by, to their over-gelled hair that looks like it will catch fire if too close to an open flame, or their look-at-me loudness at the VIP tables while they pour drinks and frequently scan the crowd to see if their desire to be watched is being fulfilled- it is just a train wreck.
The swing is available for drunken attention-whores to try to look sexy (but end up looking clumsy) as they giggle maniacally with their fellow inebriated friends standing by. The lines to the bathrooms are long, and the floors of the bathroom are usually slippery from all the spilled drinks. Fun!
PCL is a mess. Period.
Harsh? Yes. True? Hell Yes. Ever Going Back? Hell to the Mother F'n No.
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