Welcome to 2007
So I suppose my night tonight could be described as "spectacularly unsuccessful".
I begged and scraped to get a $70 ticket to this party at a club in Greville Street. I got my hands on one this afternoon and was chuffed by the success. The ticket supposedly entitled the holder to entry and free drinks from 9pm to 2pm. Neither came easily.
Having quickly sunk 4 Blondes (my current beer of choice) at pre-drinks, I sobered up as my companions and I waited in the queue outside the club. And waited. And waited.
What we were waiting for I'm unsure. I mean, it's not like we were waiting for people to leave before we could enter. No-one was going anywhere before midnight. But I think clubs like the exclusive feel of having people queuing outside, waiting to get in.
Once we got in, my night spiralled quickly downhill. I spent half of it at the bar -- initially for vodka, subsequently for water. They say there's no such thing as a free lunch. Well, I can now categorically confirm that there's really no such thing as "free drinks on entry". With a 20 minute wait to get served at the under-staffed bar and a 2 drink maximum, sobriety reigned supreme.
Despite being stone cold sober, the three vodka + Cokes I managed to get my hands on between 10.30 and 11.45 did not sit well at all. I felt my stomach rebelling. "What is this rubbish vodka you've sent me?" it demanded. "No, sir! I require a refund."
At 11.53pm, after the dialogue between brain and stomach took on a new urgency, I found myself 40 metres away from the club in a little alcove, projecting a fusion of pizza and the evening's beverages upon a side entrance to the Prahran Town Hall. I think I recognised an olive on its way up.
By midnight, I had more alcohol on my shirt than in my stomach, the closest I'd gotten to picking up was a conversation with a group of 19 year olds while initially queuing to get in, I'd vomited outside the club, I'd more or less pissed on my shoes and I found myself standing at the bar, queuing for a glass of water. There was no countdown, no celebration, no suggestion that new year's eve had passed into new year's day.
I performed a few more cursory circuits of the club, contemplated the unbearable heat and deigned to make my exit.
I took a train home, threw off my glad rags and launched myself into bed -- at which time a mate called to advise that he had relocated to a house party in the 'burbs where a bevy of spectacular women were present for the primary purpose of servicing my every whim.
I looked down at my furry naked torso through the smudged lenses of the glasses that had moments earlier replaced my contact lenses and solemnly advised him that my night was over. It was 1.45am. Meanwhile, according to the information printed on my ticket, the free drinks were still flowing in Greville Street.
Surely 2007 can only get better from here.
I begged and scraped to get a $70 ticket to this party at a club in Greville Street. I got my hands on one this afternoon and was chuffed by the success. The ticket supposedly entitled the holder to entry and free drinks from 9pm to 2pm. Neither came easily.
Having quickly sunk 4 Blondes (my current beer of choice) at pre-drinks, I sobered up as my companions and I waited in the queue outside the club. And waited. And waited.
What we were waiting for I'm unsure. I mean, it's not like we were waiting for people to leave before we could enter. No-one was going anywhere before midnight. But I think clubs like the exclusive feel of having people queuing outside, waiting to get in.
Once we got in, my night spiralled quickly downhill. I spent half of it at the bar -- initially for vodka, subsequently for water. They say there's no such thing as a free lunch. Well, I can now categorically confirm that there's really no such thing as "free drinks on entry". With a 20 minute wait to get served at the under-staffed bar and a 2 drink maximum, sobriety reigned supreme.
Despite being stone cold sober, the three vodka + Cokes I managed to get my hands on between 10.30 and 11.45 did not sit well at all. I felt my stomach rebelling. "What is this rubbish vodka you've sent me?" it demanded. "No, sir! I require a refund."
At 11.53pm, after the dialogue between brain and stomach took on a new urgency, I found myself 40 metres away from the club in a little alcove, projecting a fusion of pizza and the evening's beverages upon a side entrance to the Prahran Town Hall. I think I recognised an olive on its way up.
By midnight, I had more alcohol on my shirt than in my stomach, the closest I'd gotten to picking up was a conversation with a group of 19 year olds while initially queuing to get in, I'd vomited outside the club, I'd more or less pissed on my shoes and I found myself standing at the bar, queuing for a glass of water. There was no countdown, no celebration, no suggestion that new year's eve had passed into new year's day.
I performed a few more cursory circuits of the club, contemplated the unbearable heat and deigned to make my exit.
I took a train home, threw off my glad rags and launched myself into bed -- at which time a mate called to advise that he had relocated to a house party in the 'burbs where a bevy of spectacular women were present for the primary purpose of servicing my every whim.
I looked down at my furry naked torso through the smudged lenses of the glasses that had moments earlier replaced my contact lenses and solemnly advised him that my night was over. It was 1.45am. Meanwhile, according to the information printed on my ticket, the free drinks were still flowing in Greville Street.
Surely 2007 can only get better from here.
posted by Ash at 2:24 am
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