Skip to “***” for the fun part.
I was in my 20s on an East coast vacation with friends from school. I’m from a flyover state, so getting to party in a big city was a really nice treat as a break from my monotonous job back home.
I’m not a huge fan of clubs, but as a single guy with a bit of money burning a hole in his pocket from pulling consecutive overtime shifts for the last few weeks, I was ready to have fun getting drunk and dancing in some sweatbox dance club downtown.
We had heard of a place that was at the edge of the entertainment district, and decided to try our luck at about 11pm. When we got there, a line out the door and the prospect of waiting in the cold discouraged, but didn’t deter us. We drained our mickeys and somehow got in a heated beatboxing competition to pass the time. Idk, don’t ask. Anyway, by the time we got through coat check, we were ready for a round of shots in preparation to hit the dance floor. Some tequila did the trick.