So I recently got a job at a New Brunswick nightclub, simultaneously filling my pockets with cash and completely killing my social life (a good trade-off?). Here’s the thing about nightclub life: it very quickly becomes your life, and soon you find yourself lost when you actually have a night off and time to exist outside of the bartending-cocktail waitressing-door managing continuum. I typically only function during the times when most people are (hopefully) asleep in their nice cozy beds.
Which leads me to the other thing about nightclub life (AKA the reason I’m writing about this right now): it’s fucking hysterical. I attend Rutgers Review meetings brimming with stories about the man who lost his credit card, the woman who fell ass-first through the door frame, the dance-off between tiny white women and their equally-tiny Indian counterparts. I’m still new at this, just recently the recipient of the ever-so-important bartending license (which allows me VIP access through the gated entrance toward what we lovingly call “the service industry”), but if I’m already this full of excellent stories, I’m pretty sure I can write a kick-ass book in a few years time. I’m not sure I can ever let myself quit the industry despite the insufferable people you have to deal with, for the sake of constant weekend entertainment between the hours of 8 pm and 3 am.
So consider this your intro into what will become a column of sorts, detailing the greatest phenomena that occurs in the New Brunswick 21+ club scene. This is bound to be a super exciting time. Strap on your drinking boots and get ready for the ride.