I went out to the BBC with a girly gang last night (a girly gang, not my girly gang, as I feel uncomfortable claiming ownership), which stands for the British Banker’s Club. Firstly, it’s a bar, not a club, and certainly not exclusive to bankers from the UK. I don’t know who they think they are fooling. Secondly, despite not being a club to even the slightest degree, the bouncers think they are hot shit. They are shaking hands and schmoozing and hugging as if this place or these people coming into this place are cool. Let’s clarify – this is the only bar with a DJ in Menlo Park. Cool is relative, people.
This did not restrain the bouncers from getting all high and mighty. They refused to accept my roomie’s ID as real (which it is, by the way) and act rude and dismissive to the rest of us who are ALSO 21+. Eventually she called the Palo Alto police to verify her ID. The police show up and say, you know that we have to arrest you if this is fake. She responds, okay. Now at this point, it should become obvious that the ID isn’t fake. Who with one iota of sense would call the police to verify a fake ID? Long story short, they decided that the ID was, in fact, real (duh) and he lets her in, free cover and a free drink. Thanks for being an asshole, how does your pride feel sliding down your esophagus?
Once we arrived inside, we had our drinks and started dancing. First a youngish man approaches our group and asks a question. I am unable to hear him, but the rest of the girls kind of ignore him and look uncomfortable. I ask him what he said, and he said he was wondering if we were from Stanford. After 2 minutes of chatting, it becomes clear that Stanford is the only connection we have, and he takes off.
Then, I am gettin down, minding my own business, when someone comes up and scare the hell out of me. Not intentionally, I don’t think. We start chatting; we’re both from “Berkeley” and everything I say or do, he responds “you’re so cute!!” He cuts hair and wants to go outside to smoke.
Once outside he admits that he doesn’t have any cigarettes, so he has to bum one off an old black man. He introduces me to his friends. He asks me to see my hand. I hold it out. “You’re so cute!” Then he disappears. His friend compliments my shoes, and then starts hitting on me. Gay… or not gay? I return to the dance floor and begin dancing with my friends. A large hispanic man grabs my arm in an attempt to get me to dance with him. “I’m engaged,” I tell him, hoping to get myself out of the situation. “Even better!” he replies. I smiled and shrugged apologetically. I decide to leave not long afterwards.
In conclusion… what the fuck?