» Nightclubs

Lincoln, far away from home
I live in the cheshire area, but last year was kind of blagged in to going to work for a kids activity holiday company, which has sites all over britain, a few in france and spain, and one in canada too i believe. Standing in a death metal gig, half cut, being told by my pal (who had worked for said company for several years) that I would "definately get laid", after some not inconsiderable months without said layage, went some way to helping make my mind up.
So later that year, off I go, one hundred and twenty something miles east to lincolnshire to work as a maintanence chap on an activity centre. Alls well, plenty of new friends, good weather, outdoor work. Very quickly I get invited to somebody's leaving-do; usually these are just held in the site bar, but this one was to be a full blown excursion into Lincoln, hawaiian shirts and all, if available. Hell, I only just met the fucker today, why not go off into an unknown city with no idea how to return to site and probably go into some drippy, heaving, sweaty club that is the antithesis of everything I enjoy in a night out? And off we went.
Now, call me a bore, but I like bars. I don't go out too often, but when I do, I enjoy nothing more than a place to sit, audible friends and a drink not more than twenty paces and ten minutes wait away. So you can imagine my upset when, after having spent, say, an hour in the waterfront Weatherspoons laughing and drinking and getting to know some of the activity instructors, we are bustled off to "the next place". Being what you might call an *proper* bar, with music, a dance floor, gimmicky drinks that come in test tubes, and a 30 minute wait *just* to get inside. Then what? Enough time to order a drink and neck half of it before we move to the next "absolutely ~great~ place I saw last month that does two shots for a pound and blah blah fucking blah". Don't I even get enough time to try and settle in to my newfound, dingy horrible surroundings before you charge me off to the next VD infested stinkpot that should be nuked from orbit just to be sure?
Cue about two hours of this.
NOW everyones drunk enough to go to the club. I think it was called Ritzy or something shitsimilar. Cue the wait. Cue something daft like eight quid just to set foot in the place. Cue a sudden wall of noise and beer and sweat and what I could only call a sense of total unsociability that I thought would only be reserved for some kind of ball-sport-related riot or gathering.
I stand in there for a while, observing with horrific clarity that no matter how much I drink, I am getting sober. This *place* is making me sober with the hatred that I feel for it. I can only spy about 4 seats in the whole place. Everyone else is either moving to or from the toilets, or stood on a raised area dancing to the general playlist of rather country and westernish ballads and suchlike, none of which get me in the mood for much. Exploring only makes it worse. This is one of those multi level places with a different theme on each floor, or somesuch fucktardery. R+B on one floor, absolutely heaving, very dark, and so loud I actually wonder how the electric impulses in my brain are managing to bounce to and fro. Continuing onwards and upwards brings a similar experience but for hardcore dance, trance, house, whatever, in that mix of catagories on the second floor. A quick trek around reveals to me the terrible truth; I am alone in my hatred, anyone else with a modicum of sense would have found like-minded people and *stayed the fuck where they were having fun*.
I got out. Grabbing a phone number off one of the site cooks just in case I missed the taxi, I headed outside to sit down and call a mate. We chatted for a while about my predicament, had a wee laugh, and brought it back down to earth a little. Some passing folk commented on my sour demeanour, sitting slouched on a backless bench, chin in hand, grimacing at my reflection, and I chatted back inconsequentially. Soon i headed off for a wander; half an hour in one direction ,half an hour back. Some more meandering (It can be good fun trying to find a secluded place in a strange city to have a piss) and then I came across some other workmates who recognised me and we sorted out a taxi. About half 3 in the morning we made it back to the centre, after witnessing a scantily clad female nearly get into a full fist/nail/teeth fight with a lad she accused of being all full of various STDs.

I
Fucking
Hate
Clubbing.
Dot com.
(Sun 12th Apr 2009, 0:11, More)