I Didn't Get Into A Club and I'm Not Afraid to Admit It Anonymously

Saturday night S., a few of our friends and I were blatantly rejected from a club. We were told we weren’t “on the list” which is code for "You don’t look rich/powerful/beautiful enough to come in here." It made me miss Brooklyn.

Most of us had laughed it off by the time we crossed the street and entered another bar. “It’s all your fault you know,” I shouted over the music at S. as we tried to get the attention of the bartender again. “It’s because you’re so ugly.” Then I collapsed into giggles and started hiccuping a little.

But S. didn’t laugh. Instead she informed me that since we always get in everywhere we had to think about what had been unusual about the night.

I frowned seriously, trying to hear her, or at least pretend that I could, over the annoying Fergie song playing.

The Mitigating Factors According to S.

1. S. and I were with other girls
2. The other girls were sort of standing to the side of the line looking pissed off and saying that the bouncer was stupid
3. S. and I had not been expecting to go out and so maybe looked a little less than our best

There was nothing to do but agree with her, order another vodka tonic and watch our friend make out with a bald man. All in all, it was a good night and I'm sure the bald man would agree.

Then the next morning I got a phone call.

“Hello?” I answered from my bed. I stuck my head under the covers to block out the 10am sunlight and noticed I was still wearing shoes.

“We’re going back there,” S. told me.

“To where…? That bar? Why, does Amy really like the bald guy?”

“We are going back there tonight and we are going to get in.”

"Oh, that place...But it’s Sunday."

“CB, we are going.” S. was trying to use her I-Will-Not-Be-Reasoned-With voice which generally scares me into doing her bidding, but I was hung over, wearing shoes in bed and unable to be swayed.

“Well, I’m not. I'm staying in Brooklyn and ordering Chinese food.”

“Fine, maybe not tonight,” S. allowed. “But that club is awesome. We’ll just have to go some other time this week.” Then she hung up.

Apparently, the point of going out is to relax and have fun, unless you're in Manhattan, in which case the whole thing is a process as fraught as applying to college.

Update: We're going there again tomorrow night. S. tried to act casual but since we usually prefer parties or dive bars, there was no chance I wouldn't be suspicious of her suggestion that we go out to a "real" club for the second time in six days.