5 Reasons Every Single Employee At A Nightclub Hates You
I am the ultimate Two-Face of the service industry. Not only do I have an awful case of Resting Bitch Face that makes it look like I’m two seconds away from going Charles Manson all over everyone, but the moment a customer starts talking to me my face lights up like a gay pride Christmas tree someone set on fire. There’s a good chance I’m actually bipolar except I don’t care enough to get it looked at…unless there’s pain medication involved.
There’s not? Oh. Yep, don’t care.
The point is, as I’m sure no one has realized yet because I ramble and make stupid comparisons like it’s my job (hint: it’s actually my job), that bartender who greeted you with a smile and quickly fetched the watered down piss of a beer you ordered? He hates you. That security guard you asked if you could really quickly run out to grab your friend before coming back in? He’ll probably go home and jerk off to the idea of curb stomping your face in the alley behind the club. Of course, this doesn’t apply to everyone. Those of you who just roll up, do your thang, and leave? You’re fine, come back anytime. But for the people who show up, act like cracked out bitches at the front door, start fights, barf everywhere and then start screaming “MY DAD OWNS THIS FUCKING PLACE” when in reality all your Dad owns is…
…yeah. You’re now cordially invited to go fuck yourself.
1. “Oh my gosh, I forgot my -STUPID OBJECT YOU DON’T EVEN FUCKING NEED- in my car, can I go get it?”
Uh, sure you can go get it, but you see that sign over there? The one that says “NO RE-ADMITTANCE”? Yeah…about that. And then that’s when you throw out the “Well just remember what I look like! See? THIS IS MY FACEEEE!”
That’s very astute of you to point out where your face is located on your body. I’m sure there are many preschoolers who are jealous of your ability right now. The only problems are:
1. It’s fucking dark in here.
2. You are wearing basically the same thing as everyone else.
3. Wow, there aren’t any lights on in here.
4. Seriously, where are the lights?
5. Wait, are you that white girl or that other white girl? Because everyone looks the same in this lighting.
You know what’s actually easier to do than memorize your face and let you back in without paying cover? Just charging you cover again. And sure, that’s pretty shitty, but we already got your money once so I couldn’t care less if you make it back in again. Do you really need that anklet you left in your car? Or a tube of mascara? It’s so fucking hot in here that travel-size bottle of cologne you forgot isn’t going to keep you from smelling like donkey dick. If you actually think that any of those items are necessary things to have with you in a nightclub, then maybe it’s time you go home and re-evaluate every single life decision you’ve ever made, and then call your parents and tell them how badly their lack of parenting skills have left you.
2. “Yeah I know….Jason? No, his name is James. Or Jared? Josh. He put me on the VIP list. We’re really good friends.”
If the two of you are such besties then why don’t you know his fucking name? And while we’re at it, let’s throw out a few other J-names just so we get our bases covered:
Weird how so many names these days have hyphens in them. Kinda like how it’s weird that by “really good friends” you actually mean “your friend’s 3rd cousin infinitely removed who went to a concert that one time and met a promoter who knew how to spell the word ‘club'”. Walking up to the VIP door manager and farting words out of your mouth like a toddler who accidentally injected Novocain into their face isn’t going to get you anywhere, but it’s fine. We’re used to that. What’s ACTUALLY the worst is when you sit there and clog up the line while you blast every single one of your phone contacts and try to get the right name, except when you finally “get” it…nope idea who that is. I’d imagine you’re getting tired of the ripe taste of shit in your mouth, maybe it’s time to give the shits a rest.
3. “Your club sucks! I’m not paying more than $20 cover to get in!”
Um, then why are you here…waiting in line…to get in? Out of the two of us, it looks like you’re on the losing side right now. As for bitching about cover, this isn’t fucking Aladdin where you can haggle for shit on the street. Next.
4. Your cocktail waitress is a waitress, not a hooker.
Yes her dress barely covers her crotch. Yes her boobs are pushed so high up that they’re almost suffocating her face. And yes, she’s probably flirting with you. You know why? Because it’s her job to sell you as much booze as possible. What’s more likely, that she genuinely enjoys the drunken “Urrfff thunkkk yurrr so purttttyyyy” you’re slurring in her ear, or that she’s putting up with it because if she gets you to buy more booze it makes her 20% gratuity at the end of the night even higher? And I’m not talking about just chatting her up. I’m talking about the people who grab legs and make awkward attempts at groping body parts. To put some perspective in here, have you ever been to a party where you were seemingly the only sober person there? You’re trying to enjoy yourself despite the lack of alcohol in your blood stream, except it’s kinda hard to have a good time when everyone around you is like
That’s your cocktail waitresses’ night, except people keep trying to molest her. Not everyone is a drunk baby that keeps trying to grab the pretty lady’s milk, but those of you who are? Your parents would be embarrassed.
5. Please stop crying, it’s making everyone uncomfortable. Everyone understands that people get hammered. Everyone understands that sometimes, things in life make people cry. But when you’re literally STANDING at the front door and just CRYING about NOTHING, it’s time to go home. It’s not even girls that do this, it’s men. The image of a 20-something year-old fratboy standing at the front door with tears, fucking TEARS and boogers and drool waterfalling off of his face and forming puddles on the ground will forever be seared into my brain. You know why? Because it’s probably THE most uncomfortable thing in the world to see grown men cry over dumb shit.
For all I know he stubbed his toe on the way out, then thought to himself “I bet the entire crowd of people at the front of this club want to see me sob like a little bitch!”, except he was wrong and everyone was staring at him. One of the bussers had to go out there and set up a “Wet Floor” sign, I shit you not. What made it worse was that he was built. Picture Arnold Schwarzenegger at ~20 years old, crying like a toddler who just got a spanking on the sidewalk. And then, finally, because some deity somewhere took pity on the entire staff, he finally walked off into the night, never to be seen agai- oh goddamnit he came back. Over. And over. Until finally two cops rolled up and they were like “Kid, if you don’t shut the fuck up you’re going to jail.”
So of course that made him cry more. Let that be a lesson to everyone, that even when you’re hammered as fuck…