Cover me

"$10. Just to step in the door; to get into a place I know I won't enjoy.

I met my friend and the entrance and we push through the crowd to the back of the bar, after first getting a round, and descend the stairs to bowels of the place, down to the dance level. We are assaulted by the heat as we enter in addition to the music, which is deafening. Walking back to our area in the corner is enough to bring a sheen of sweat. There is nothing else that can reach the ears while the pounding strains of some indistinguishable dance track thunders through the room.

$2 per minutes so far.

We head over to where our group is and sit. We attempt a conversation but it quickly becomes a game of "what tag" and we both give up for a time. Our drinks at least provide something to do: pick up the glass, take a sip, hold the liquid in your mouth and savor the flavor with a pensive look, swallow, and return the glass to the table. Repeat whenever the uncomfortable feeling of doing nothing necessitates some motion.

$1 per minute.

The bodies on the dance floor gyrate in ritual of horniness and youth. The desperation hangs thick in the air and the throbbing bass from the speakers sends the tendril-like fog of it swirling towards the alert predators. You can see them watching from the wings, waiting to strike when they see a weak or wanting prey. A lone woman dancing is alone for but a second before the hounds swarm. An obviously hammered and horny woman has more options than she knows what to do with... or perhaps she is a resourceful one and knows what to do. I laugh but it is consumed by the pounding rhythms and goes unheard.

$.50 per minute.

The DJ, in his booth, looks on smugly, as if he is a man among boys. He controls the crowd, or so he thinks. Instead he is trapped in a booth whilst others grind with the women on the floor. He dictates the sounds from his Apple laptop but misses out on any action. The only person sadder than him is his assistant who bops his head to the beat and stare out of the booth with a very creepy look, like an old man looking a little too long and little too intently on a much too young woman. He at least seems content to dance and leer by himself.

$.25 per minute.

My friend gets dragged up to dance although he obviously doesn't want to. It is the birthday of the girl dragging him up so courtesy dictates he at least half-ass a little dance. He isn't drunk enough to do it wholeheartedly and so it mostly consists of head bobs and the occasional shuffle. His unease at least entertains me a bit and I am thankful that I don't know the birthday girl enough for her to drag me up as well. He, of course, keeps his drink in his hand so that he can periodically stop dancing to take a swig. That reminds me that I still have my drink to pass the time: sip, hold, swallow, repeat.

$.10 per minute.

Finally, a few people from the group leave. They have broken the ice-- it is now acceptable to move on to another place. You never want to be the first to go, but once another has made the move it is open season. My friend and I agree we should find a new place. After a few minutes convincing the birthday girl we climb out of the dungeon and exit the bar into the real world again. The night air feels good, although my ears strain to hear the sounds of the city. Onward to new and better bars.

Just over two hours. So it only cost me about 8 cents per uncomfortable minute."

I was very tempted to go home shortly after I got there. I am, however, glad I did not. Not that any fun was had at that first place. Thankfully, we went to much more low-key Irish bar. A place where conversation is not only possible but expected. We met up with a new group of people which improved things as well.

What I thought was going to be an early night turned into a surreal night full of stories and in-jokes. A night which included, but was not limited to: ridiculous multi pronged biological analogies, Chinese government adaptability, extended pussyfooting, Bactrian Camels, street voyeurism, jumper cables, a hubcap, a steel
bladder, a man blending into a bathroom door, a vibrating couch, a philosophizing waiter, and very (and I do mean very) opaque yogurt.

It was one of the rare times I made a wise decision when faced with the "should I stay or should I go" dilemma, which I have often. This was the first time in a while that I didn't regret my decision shortly afterwards. Perhaps I've had enough experience making the wrong decision that I've learned.