Paying overpriced drinks who are supposed to make you feel important but make you feel you've been assaulted.
Queuing for ages in the lovely British weather to get in the ultra cool club.
All the chit chat that has to be made up with people you will never see in your life again: talking about which club is better or has got a new show, fitter girls, better feeling, great vibe.
The philosophical thoughts that come to mind when you see people all over the place pretending to have a good time. Can all this people be enjoying themselves at the same time as much as they seem to?
Men trying to rub their bodies against women's ones without realising that they are stroking other men.
The disgustingly rude bouncers (generally big, fat and bald), sad people that take any advantage to make use of their pathetic power.
Q to the toilet to find a guy who is trying to put perfume on you in exchange of a quid. Q to take a cigarette (fresh air in my case) break, oh it is getting even colder out here. Q to go back inside. Q to get to the dance floor, q to escape the latter. Q for everything you can think of.
People shouting like maniacs at songs they never heard, after all, alcohol gives a license to behave beyond the unexpected.
Groups of men that keep checking out every single girl and disapproving immediately as they are not good enough for them.
The tons of rickshaw boys attacking anyone for a quick ride and a big tip. Targeting women in mini skirts for an exchange of a close contact of third type or a bunch of repressed guys who want a ride to a place where the night ladies are less surly and more friendly.
The entertainment on the bus back (luckily 24h bus service exist here). Drunken guys trying to chat up girls. A bunch of under the age of consent girls taking the piss off each other, describing loudly BJs, balls, comparison between E and weed and something about head. And then mentioning that all their decency was left in the night club (that was in fact the most entertaining part of the night). Also the idiots who took superman tonic in the shape of beer bottles and want to start up a fight to prove their gained super powers.
Feeling guilty ethically as the chips and 2 piece battery chicken you are eating to kill the alcohol effect never saw live outside the 30cm x 30cm cage it was confined to live.
Dumping your clothes wherever and tripping over everything on your way. The endless spinning of the room that is stopped by grounding yourself back to earth.
The headache in your head, thousands of neurons taking revenge for the suffering they had to go to for your pleasure and a big hole in your pocket that will ensure you eat a generous portion of pasta al oleo for the rest of the week.
These are some of the myriad of joys of "having a good night out", not just in London.
Queuing for ages in the lovely British weather to get in the ultra cool club.
All the chit chat that has to be made up with people you will never see in your life again: talking about which club is better or has got a new show, fitter girls, better feeling, great vibe.
The philosophical thoughts that come to mind when you see people all over the place pretending to have a good time. Can all this people be enjoying themselves at the same time as much as they seem to?
Men trying to rub their bodies against women's ones without realising that they are stroking other men.
The disgustingly rude bouncers (generally big, fat and bald), sad people that take any advantage to make use of their pathetic power.
Q to the toilet to find a guy who is trying to put perfume on you in exchange of a quid. Q to take a cigarette (fresh air in my case) break, oh it is getting even colder out here. Q to go back inside. Q to get to the dance floor, q to escape the latter. Q for everything you can think of.
People shouting like maniacs at songs they never heard, after all, alcohol gives a license to behave beyond the unexpected.
Groups of men that keep checking out every single girl and disapproving immediately as they are not good enough for them.
The tons of rickshaw boys attacking anyone for a quick ride and a big tip. Targeting women in mini skirts for an exchange of a close contact of third type or a bunch of repressed guys who want a ride to a place where the night ladies are less surly and more friendly.
The entertainment on the bus back (luckily 24h bus service exist here). Drunken guys trying to chat up girls. A bunch of under the age of consent girls taking the piss off each other, describing loudly BJs, balls, comparison between E and weed and something about head. And then mentioning that all their decency was left in the night club (that was in fact the most entertaining part of the night). Also the idiots who took superman tonic in the shape of beer bottles and want to start up a fight to prove their gained super powers.
Feeling guilty ethically as the chips and 2 piece battery chicken you are eating to kill the alcohol effect never saw live outside the 30cm x 30cm cage it was confined to live.
Dumping your clothes wherever and tripping over everything on your way. The endless spinning of the room that is stopped by grounding yourself back to earth.
The headache in your head, thousands of neurons taking revenge for the suffering they had to go to for your pleasure and a big hole in your pocket that will ensure you eat a generous portion of pasta al oleo for the rest of the week.
These are some of the myriad of joys of "having a good night out", not just in London.
1 comment:
=), it's nice to read you. Every now and then you paint a smile in my face with your posts.
Post a Comment