Ladies, maybe we are asking for it. We go to a nightclub, most of us scantily clad and willfully too tipsy to exercise anything resembling sound judgment. We say we are going just to dance with our girlfriends but we know what we are really after: obtaining as many free drinks as possible from as many pathetic club-going douchey men as we can. Not that we normally NEED the free drinks, unless you happen to be unemployed or self-employed like myself and my girlfriends, but it's a game, really.
This past Saturday night I was NOT asking for it. I was wearing jeans, a modest t-shirt, even my Converse. I may have bee open to the prospect of squeezing free drinks from vulnerable men given a "too easy" opportunity, but not pursuing it. We are invited onto a promoter's guest list 3 steps towards the club down Hollywood Boulevard. Good. We get past the line and through security with flask safely secured in my 'special' purse. Cool.
Then, to our surprise and dismay, the bouncer stationed at the front door methodically checks all three of our IDs, asks us, all three of us, to spin around for him, makes a comment about our asses and proceeds to go ahead and grab/slap our asses. That is definitely a first. Especially for a club formally used as a Hollywood rave venue desperately trying to establish itself as 'classy.'
So outrageous, it was bordering on funny, I found myself not sufficiently drunk to be amused by this guy. I briefly entertained the not-so-comforting notion that maybe, by nature of our collective female desire to exploit nightclub staff and customers, we deserved this. Sadly, it turns out, us girls, though painfully close, never did get any free drinks Saturday night. I guess that is minus one point for our dignity and another unrefereed point for chauvinism!
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