In Da Club...

I'm writing this as a journalist, I suppose. As someone who reports a story just as it happens. And although reporters are not supposed to put their own opinions into articles, most don't follow that rule so neither will I.

A week ago I was invited by some friends at work to go downtown and visit the Escape Ultralounge... an "upscale" dance club with a beautiful building and a strictly enforced dress code. I was told it wouldn't be a cruddy club like Tropix (I've never been there but would never go anywhere named Tropix), and that it would be so fun that I would enjoy myself all evening.

The day rolled around and no one contacted me. I was slightly (OK, very) uncomfortable about the idea of going and was only considering it so I could do something with the people I work with. I spent my evening with my family, volunteering at my Uncle's office to make telemarketer-like phone calls for the President. I had a fun evening with my family and arrived home around 10pm. I watched TV for about an hour before realizing I hadn't had my cell phone with me all night. I found it downstairs and saw that I had two missed calls. Oh, boy.

I gave my friend a call.

"Hey, it's me. Sorry, I didn't have my phone with me... are you guys all down there? Too bad I missed you..."
"No! We haven't gone! You should come, please! Meet at my house if you want and then you can follow me... can you come?"
"Sure."

It was almost 11:30 and all I wanted to do was climb into my pj's and hop into my nice warm bed with a cup of steamy cocoa and a novel. But I did the opposite. I put on some dressy clothes and went to my car.

The bouncer almost kicked me out. Escape is actually located inside a mall downtown, and after showing my ID, he looked down and said, "Oh, sorry I can't let you in... you're wearing tennis shoes." What an idiot! I had been told not to wear them, but had because they were comfortable. Besides, they were almost brand new, too!
"Who are you with?" he asked. "Them," I said, pointing to the group I was with. My friend, who was dressed up and looked perfectly "club-ish" turned around, smiled, and gave a little wave to the bouncer. "You can go," he said quickly.

We entered a long, low-lit hallway that wound around and finally brought us right to the middle of the dance floor. The feeling in the pit of my stomach grew stronger: I did not like it here, not one bit. I have never seen so many people packed into one building. My first reaction was disgust. There are too many people here, too much alcohol, and not enough oxygen. My two friends seemed relatively comfortable, and one said... actually she yelled (the music was so loud, but I'll get into that in a minute) "Let's go find my friends!" Then she dove into the dancing crowd. I dashed to keep up with her, pushing by people, rubbing up against at least 200 people, and finally finding.... no one. We turned around and headed back to the edge of the group, realizing we had lost our other friend. "Oh great," I thought. Then he popped out of the crowd. "Weird! I can't believe we found you!" we both screamed at him. Then the three of us, led by one, plunged back into the mass of bodies, trying to get into the middle of the crowd. Once there, and touching at least three people all the time, we tried to dance.

Anyone reading this realizes that in order to have fun dancing you must either, A) be happy, be with your friends, or want to dance, or B) be drunk. I was neither, and had to convince myself to dance. I tried my best to fit in, but there were a couple of factors I found distracting.

First of all, the music was so loud, my blood was probably whipped up into froth from the bass. I have never experienced bass that intense. My nostrils were buzzing, making me want to sneeze. Because of the pure volume of the music, all thought was driven out of my head. I was now a warrant of the club. Whatever they played or said, I heard... actually I did more than hear, every noise was pounded into my skull. Even now, days later, I still have offensive rap lyrics slipping through my mind.

Second, the floor moved. As the mass of bodies bounced in synchronization to the beat, the floor moved up and down from the sheer weight of the crowd. This was especially unnerving because it was so dark that their was little sense of which way was what.

Thirdly, the heat was almost unbearable. Dancing in the middle of the crowd was like baking in a giant oven. I could literally feel waves of body heat flowing from my feet up to the ceiling. Every once and a while, a cold wave of air would be shot out into the middle of the room. Whoa, what a feeling... it's like you could breath.

Looking back on that experience gives me two feelings: One is relief that I'm not there right now, and the other is a feeling of being thankful... I'm thankful that I am not trapped in a life like many of those people are. I have standards, morals, resolutions, dreams of something so much greater than dancing with whores I have never met.

The people at Escape had given into their animal instinct... the instinct that is inside us all, but doesn't come out with as much vengeance. It's like everyone there gave themselves - their minds and bodies - to everyone else. If you wanted to get on someone, get to it. If they wanted to get on you, they should feel free. This attitude was reflected to me the very moment I entered the room, and it terrified (and continues to terrify) me.

So what's the wrap-up? I went to da club in da hood with some peeps... I felt ill, rumbled, shook, baked, coughed, and tried to dance a little. I don't think I would ever EVER go back there, and I don't recommend it to you either.

I enjoy doing things with friends.... bowling, watching a movie, spooning... after my club experience these activities seem so lame... and so absolutely wonderful.