When I say I don’t understand nightclubs, I honestly mean it. I cannot conceptualise a situation in which being inside a cramped, moist, unhygienic hub of sensory deprivation and sexual assault would be desirable. After getting past the bouncer who has mistaken his obesity for muscle mass, deeming himself the hardest man since Marvel’s The Thing, you walk into a room comparable to that of a CIA torture chamber. Terrible music blares so loud that the human ear is incapable of processing it into anything intelligible – like when you scream into a microphone. Moving head lights designed to be used on TV shows and arena concerts send their cornea-burning gaze around the room like the Eye of Sauron. Add buckets of overpriced booze that you had to shank your way to the bar to purchase only to spill half of it down yourself and the result is a swash of dazed and confused idiots, ready to reveal their dastardly plot to the interrogating agent.
Physical environment aside, the humans that you’ll find in a nightclub are something else altogether. Between the rampant ‘lad culture’ and men in their late 30s who seriously think they have a chance, what is realistically going to be found in a nightclub that constitutes an enjoyable social experience? The last time I was in a club, some dirty old men (around 28, maybe) were eyeing up my female company and making crude gestures to each other like savages. After they noticed both me and my disapproving face, the leader of this pack of animals proceeded to half-assedly apologise. To me. Not to my friends. As if he’d scratched my car. Fucking dog. Later that night my friend, a stern feminist, walked back to the car on my arm – because she felt safer that way. Indeed after we’d left another female friend was pushed to the ground by some dirty chav who she had presumably rejected.
So why is it that people go to these places? It’s not fun – it’s an exhausting exercise in self-defence. Other humans can be difficult to deal with at the best of times – but drunk, entitled, filthy chavs who treat nightclubs like a human catalogue are just detestable. Add that to fact that the majority of club owners are wannabe gangsters and the stench of cheap aftershave and perfume constitutes chemical warfare, I am confident in saying that I wish never to set foot in such an establishment again.