Against my better judgment, I'm going to try and tell this story on my blog. My friend, Data, the other major participant in the events suggested that it would make for good blog material, especially considering that it was a "genuine NYC clubbing experience."
I'll use initials and nicknames so that people can be mildly incriminated. I just found out that Data has his own blog where he posts stories that other people write. You don't have permission to use this one! Write it yourself! You were there!
So here goes. I want to complete this before Friday so that I don't have to tell the story in haiku.
It was a cool July Saturday evening. I had just come from a dinner in Brooklyn where I lost five [hundred] dollars playing poker, and I really hate to lose. Not only that, I lost my money by about the third hand. We were playing in a huge group of 12 people, I hadn't played in a while, and my results were poor. Data informed me that another friend of ours, TK, had a group of people out in downtown Manhattan and we should join them.
After trying to find the right bar, we found the location in SoHo, a club whose exterior showed a different name than the club name (that means it's
really cool). There was a hostess outside, with two huge guys and one smaller guy wearing a beret and blazer. We approached the door and were informed that the club was "only accepting reservations" at the moment. In case you're new to the NYC club scene, "reservations" is a code word for saying that they are discriminating against men. Except that they can't say discrminiate, so instead it's "reservations."
So we didn't have a reservation. Neither did our friend, TK. We gave his name but we just received a blank look in return. We then found out TK's group hadn't arrived yet. Data suggested we recruit a group of women to help us enter the club, then meet the others inside once they arrived. After a rock/paper/scissors game, it was determined that he would have to recruit. It was the only thing I would win all night.
(As a side note, Data kept protesting, "I can't talk to these women, I have a girlfriend." To which I responded, "You at least have success with women. My lack of success in the girlfriend department is a clear indicator as to why you should talk to these women.")
Two women rode up in a cab. It was probably about 1am or so at this point. Data approached them and told a brief version of our story: we had to meet our friends inside and if they helped us in, we could buy them drinks. The women agreed, but first we had to wait for their friends. Seemed reasonable enough.
At about the same time, two events happened:
1) TK's crew arrived. This was a coed group of about 7 men and 5 women. Data knew more of them than I did, but still, I knew 3-4 people in the group.
2) Four more women arrived to join the two who Data had spoken with and made the agreement.
So in sum, there were 9 men (Data, me, and 7 from the TK group) and 11 women (5 from the TK group and 6 that Data recruited). Not a bad ratio, assuming we are gunning for a 1:1 type situation.
The hostess let in the 11 women and counted them. Then the guys started filtering in. After 6 guys got in, she said, "That's good enough, I can't let anyone else in." Three guys were on the wrong side of the line, including me, Data and one other guy, "Bachelor #3."
Someone in our party (looked like Lex Luthor) asked me, "Are you part of our group?" to which I responded, "Of course." Then after trying to negotiate with the hostess a little, he leaned in to tell her something. I presumed, he was suggesting that she let us in for a financial transaction. But she only let in bachelor #3. Then she told me and Data that we still had to wait. Of course, the question was, "Wait for what?"
Time passed. Many women entered the joint, some left, and some mixed groups entered. Data and I tried to get in a few more times, attaching ourselves to other groups of women in exchange for offers of drinks. After a while, I had to wonder why this particular place was so good. I've never tried that hard to enter any place before, so this was just frustrating.
Probably around an hour later, three of the members of the group stopped outside to see if they could try again to convince the hostess to let us in. One member stepped outside and chatted with us for a bit. But it was no use.
After a few of our failed attempts, Data said to me, "Are you going to blog this?" I responded, "No."
Data then asked, "If our friend, VS was here, he'd be able to get in." This was true. VS would have gotten in, I think.
Now, ninety minutes after we had arrived and tried to get in, I asked the hostess why she couldn't just let me and Data in. The crux of my point was that I know their "policy" and that was fine with me, but I just wanted to socialize with the rest of my group (now inside). She said,
"That [Lex Luthor-looking] guy told me that you two weren't part of the party."
I still have scratches on my chin from when my jaw hit the pavement. Running through my head was the thought,
That SOB stabbed us in the back! I pulled the knife out of my back as the Wolverine berzerker rage built up in my head.
Not part of the group?! Data had recruited those women (whom without, Luthor would have never entered in the first place!) and now we were standing around desperately trying to get into this scummy bar/club.
As the steam emerged from my ears, I looked at Data and asked him what he wanted to do. Frankly, at this point in time, the story is very hazy in my mind. According to Data's account of the events, my eyes turned bloodshot. I don't believe him. I uttered a number of expletives over the course of the conversation and several revenge scenarios (all unrealistic) cruised through my mind. I thought I could take out the skinny guy with the beret (what was his job?) but the two big guys could crush me with a pinky. I wanted to throw something through the window, but figured I wouldn't be able to run away. Several other possibilities rushed through my mind, but most of them are not fit for the blog.
So does this post have a happy ending? (It was certainly a long and frustrating night.) Did we ever get into the club? Did Data or I ever get the chance to ask Luthor why he stabbed us in the back? Did any of our friends come out to find us?
No, no, no and no.
Data and I went home. It was about 2:45am and pretty much at this point, women weren't heading out to any more clubs, it was mostly drunk guys, so we didn't have a prayer of getting in. We never saw Luthor the rest of the evening and our friends had just assumed we left after not getting in the first time. That's pretty much the end of the story and that's the end of the longest post to date on the Kitchen Fresh Blog.
I am not an angry person, and in the end, only two things really bug me. The first is just missing out on the opportunity to hang out with some friends, and the second is being stabbed in the back by that bald and skinny jack@$$. Hopefully the rules of karma dictate that he will soon learn the harsh pain of betrayal.
END
