The mother of all coincidences

Two years and still waiting

Code of Ethics

Jillian Peña:
Hot sauce and a change of heart

Jillian Peña archives

Galo Pesantes
Sports Editor

I have to admit that the club life might not be for me after experiencing my first real night at a 21-and-over nightclub.

For starters, I’ve never been much of a “club-going” kind of guy, but I do like to attend occasional house parties and barbecues with friends and families.

But this was different, because one of my best friends graduated from college and he decided to celebrate at a club in Hollywood. So I decided to roll through with another one of my best friends. We decided to show up around 11:30 p.m. when the doors had opened at 10 p.m.

That proved to be our first mistake. After weaving through all the late night traffic on the streets of Hollywood, we arrived to an entrance with three apparent lines. Two of them really aren’t lines but expressways for anyone who is lucky enough to be in them. The first everyone knows already: The VIP.

At 21 years old, I already knew that unless I had an album out, was in a big movie or was on some kind of cheesy TV show, I wouldn’t be getting in there. The next line was for “The rollers” or in other words the people that are making substantially more money than most.

Again, being in college would probably not qualify me for that line either. So the next line, other wise known as the “Average Joe” line was where I ended up despite the fact I was on a guest list.

As my buddy and I waited, we observe the obsessive security guard at the front line yelling at people to “Stay off the ropes!” and “Get off the sidewalk!” and “Can you please make a line?!” What made matters worse is that more and more VIPs and Rollers kept cruising by making the club more crowded than it already was and significantly slowing down the Joe’s.

We finally made it to the front. I showed my I.D. to the bouncer and got in with no problem. My friend was not as fortunate.

As the experienced I.D. checker saw right through his fake I.D. He did his best to play it off but eventually I had to spot my friend the money to pay off the bouncer so we could go in. I was now 40 dollars down, not to mention the cash I had shelled out for the cover charge.

I entered to find the congested dance floor. I tried to squeeze through people to find my friends, but the club was set up in such a way you can easily lose the people you are with.

After giving up the search for a while, my buddy tried to pay me back when he bought us some drinks at the bar. The purchase wasn’t worth while because he paid $20 for only two drinks.

With those drinks in hand, we started to scan the floor for potential females to mingle with.

This was when I spotted a friend that told me where I could find my buddy throwing his mini-party at the club.

After again bumping into several folks, I finally reached. It seemed that he had already been out of it for a while and had been celebrating too much, if you catch my drift. Yet it was good to see that he recognized me and my friend and was glad we were there.

After we danced a bit and talked to a stunning array of women, my friend and I decided to call it a night and head back to his school for some good ole’ fashion drinking games.

It was not the most glamorous way to end the night. But after what I had gone through in just a few hours at the club, it was well worth being just an average Joe that can still have ordinary college fun.

Galo Pesantes, a junior communications major, is sports editor of the Campus Times. He can be reached by e-mail at gpesantes@ulv.edu.