Why Going Clubbing Is Only Fun When You're Underage
Music, alcohol, men and good times: all the things you can expect to encounter on a weekend night at your local nightclub, right? Wrong — it’s grown to be the monotonous weekly activity that I dread most.
Don’t get me wrong, before I was of age, I was dying to go clubbing and experience whatever the whole fuss about it was. But within just a few short years of being legal, I couldn’t be more over it.
I used to be thrilled when girlfriends would call and ask me to hit the town with them. I loved the whole process: picking out a sexy dress, doing my hair, my makeup, picking out the right shoes, etc.
But nowadays, getting out feels like such a hassle. No one wants to be the designated driver and the idea of that inevitable morning hangover is a concern before having that first drink.
But if by some miracle, we do end up going out, it always feels like a struggle just to get into the club. If you don’t have $40 to slip to the bouncer, you can’t get to the VIP line, so you’re stuck waiting in the general line outside in awful weather for at least a half hour. That buzz you had from the pregame will be long gone by the time you step inside the club.
When you finally get inside after paying a stupid cover fee (even though it’s already midnight), you probably have to endure another line for coat check.
By the time this whole process is over, you finally get a drink (after you push through to the bar and, again, wait), before finding a tiny spot on the sticky dance floor.
Odds are the music isn’t great, but you suck it up since you’ve already made it so far. Before you finish dancing with your girlfriends for a full song, some guy assumes that you're interested in getting dry humped from behind. Despite the fact that you did not agree to dance with him (and that dry humping is NOT dancing), you begrudgingly deal with it for at least several seconds before pivoting 45 degrees and making uncomfortable eyes at your friends.
Maybe a guy approaches you and hands you a drink before even speaking to you. Fine, he succeeded: you now feel obligated to speak with him because he already bought you a drink (a drink you don’t like, because he didn’t ask what you would like). Nothing in life is free — and the price of the drink is not worth the cost of the conversation.
Initially all the attention from men at clubs felt flattering and sexy, but with time, I felt the wrath of reality. These grope-y, creepy, clingy guys were not interested in me — they probably didn’t even see me — they were just hoping to get lucky and have a random hookup.
There are the guys who think that lifting you into the VIP section to join their private table with the stupidly expensive bottle of vodka is just oh-so impressive and there are the guys who think that dancing with them is an invitation to make out. NO!
By the time the night is over and you’re back home, your reflection is truly terrifying. That makeup that you applied so carefully has melted off your face, your hair is soaked and matted with sweat, your ears are ringing, head is spinning and you can barely feel your feet. You look and feel awful, you spent way more money than you should have and all you have to show for yourself are cloudy memories of guys grinding on you as if you were an inanimate object.
Clubbing is a good way to hear some music, clear your mind, drink with your friends, meet new people, blow off steam, get dressed up and experience an environment different than your day-to-day routine. But, for me, the scene feels like a huge black hold for time, effort and money.
