Thanks to corona, normal clubs are playing in the fiddle of illegal clubs in town. Which is to say, some open, but completely off the grid, and no one gets invited. If you don’t know someone who knows someone who knows another someone, then there is a zero percent chance that you are getting into one, leave alone, know if they exist in the first place. So, through a friend, we visited this one club across town.
Inside an “illegal” club, you can’t pin anyone to a face, and thanks to the colorful face masks on people’s faces, it’s almost impossible to know them, which when you come to think of it, is a complete bummer, i mean why even go to a club now! Two bouncers are standing at the entrance with black matching t-shirts and black jeans to show how serious they are. Both have face masks on with branding, one with an Arsenal branded mask (I mean, why in the world would anyone do that?) and the other it’s just some weird logo I have never seen. Next to them, a hand sanitizer, the big one. I guess they forced everyone to sanitize.
The inside is normal, despite the few crowd and the tuned music volume. The bartender is a happy chap, mid in his 20s, I think, always smiling to the hungry mamis on the counter yelling at the top of their lungs to a Chris Brown song playing on the speakers next to them. He is in casual wear, a white t-shirt with the club’s logo and some black jeans pants. Speaking of the mamis, four women, of some weird age difference with liquor glasses on their hands looking all dressed up and shit, I guess they are from work and didn’t even take time to go home. What a world? Right? Each of them takes turns hitting on the bartender.
Across the room, a dude in his 40s or something is relaxing with his bottle of white cap, eyes buried in his phone. In my mind, am like, when did people this old got addicted to their phones? Anyway, maybe he was closing a work deal or something. My thoughts are distracted by a group of dudes from the other corner laughing, a pack of 6 dudes all hammered, hitting on two chiles on the other side of the table. Some of them are just on a joy ride there; I could pinpoint the two guys who would eventually get the girls if, by any chance, they agreed. Their designated driver is at the end of the table, sipping his ice-cold bottle of stoney. The night gets crazy at around 1 am. Which is, most of the time, the hour some of these people leave. But thanks to the curfew, they have to spend the whole night here. The bouncers are now guarding the exit.
The DJ is playing his favorite concussion of gengetone, a group of odis at the center table gets to the dance floor. Even I don’t know what they were doing, but hey, that’s their thing. I am chilling with my friend, and we are on our trillionth beer, the world starts to experience some earthquakes and spin-around, maybe they are back. The DJ pauses the music to make some small remarks on the #blacklivesmatter campaigns going on, I don’t know why he is doing this to a bunch of drunk chaps, but hey, maybe it helped.
This is later followed by some gospel music that people took to another level. Don’t get me wrong, watching hammered dudes get all worshipy and shit on gospel music is usual a fun thing to watch. By 4 am, a good number of them have already passed out; the DJ is playing some roots and reggae, which is loved by the mamis on the counter. I am surprised they haven’t blacked out already. But they are still strong enough to whine on each other until 5.am when the gates are opened once again. Then the drunk, half sleepy citizens are released to the world. Yet another day ahead of them.