The Club

I don’t see why we go to the club.

It’s not fun.

You know it isn’t.

It’s a bunch of people who decided this is where we are going to pretend to have a good time.

If there is fun to be had in the club, it’s because of the people you came there with. Your friends.

Rarely will you meet someone new in there. Not only because everyone is huddled into the groups they came with but you really can’t hear shit anyone says anyway.

So how are we supposed to meet each other?

85% of us have our phones out and care more about what’s on that screen than we do about the stranger trying to get our attention by hovering around us.

No indictment on our love for our phones though, it has just become a part of our everyday life. To be mad at the phone would be the same as being mad at cars (both are just technological advances that have helped humanity in its quest to get as much done with as little effort as possible).

My problem with the club is that, in reality, it’s a place none of us want to be. You ask someone why they go to the club and their response is one of the following:

1.     Be around new people: RARELY will you leave a club knowing someone you didn’t know when you walked in

2.     Get Drunk, listen to music: This can be done in several other cheaper, and less sweaty places

3.     To Dance: It’s time our generation admits we can’t dance. We’ve been grinding since the 10th grade and at 22; I can say it’s gotten pretty old.

4.     Bored: You’re just being lazy. Wouldn’t take much thought to think of something cooler, and more memorable than the club.

The way I like to explain to my friends is, I am not a “club guy” because I can think of a million places I’d rather be with my friends and I have conversations with women there while thinking 1 of two things:

1.     Why are we here?: She is like-minded thus leaving me wondering why we both made the terrible decision to come here and meet under these circumstances. or

2.     Why am I here?: She is far from like-minded and I am positive she has fully convinced herself that this is a fun place and there is nowhere else she would rather be. This interaction rarely lasts more than 1 dance and the conversation usually ends when the girl can’t even come remotely close to pronouncing Bo-duh-lare.

Funny thing is, most of my invitations to go to the club come from my female friends. Which is crazy because it makes me think, “Wait why do y’all even pretend to enjoy going there?” I’ve seen the reaction to them receiving the arm/hip grab and rarely if ever ends well and as someone who was on the other end of that exchange, I would prefer not have to do that to get a woman’s attention. Call me old fashioned, but I enjoy conversation (even that which is had on the via phones. In 2015 you can’t be picky) no matter who its with, and conversations, unfortunately, cannot be had in the club.

My disdain for the club could come from my current status as washed. For those that don’t know, washed is the term our generations gives to those who don’t mind staying in and look back fondly on our younger, more reckless days with no intention of repeating or trying to recreate them.

The point here is, we all hate the club; I’m just the only one admitting it.