“Fuck you then.”
That’s what I said to the asshole bouncer on a power trip by the register, and that’s why I was kicked out. I didn’t just say it to say it, I said it because the cocksucker deserved it. Allow me to explain.
…yo, let’s hit up the Trail of Tears club circuit…
I wanted to spend time with my little sister, so this past Friday I made it a point to hang out with her. It was her co-worker’s birthday and she wanted to have it at Passion because being a dentist she’s apparently a fan of pulling teeth. Right off the bat I didn’t want to go. I had been to Passion years ago and assumed (correctly) that it didn’t change much, so I wasn’t in the mood for gaudy pretentiousness in the middle of a fucking Indian reservation. Let’s be clear, you can’t pretend to be as chic as a South Beach club when you’re nestled in lands set aside by the federal government as a “we’re sorry for slaughtering all your ancestors” gesture. When I hear some night club enthusiasts (New Jersey residents) say shit like “yo, let’s hit up the Trail of Tears club circuit” then you can pretend like you’re hot shit. Until then, you’re a mediocre club next to a venue with a mechanical bull.
We arrive and the party isn’t there yet. We were told to arrive before 12:30 AM since that’s when the VIP list closes up shop. Fair enough, we were there before then. When the others finally appear we still have time. There’s a back-door line for people on a list and we queue up. Frodo Baggins and his bouncer brother Douche Baggins man the door and tell us “those with sneakers aren’t allowed in.” He was referring to one of the gentlemen in our group who was wearing probably the cleanest, most pristine, whitest sneakers I’ve ever seen. He’s a fellow of the urban persuasion, good dude, and didn’t look trashy. The sneakers were working for him and his pants and button-down shirt overlaid with a sweater. I pointed out to the others (but not to the bouncers, I didn’t want to start any trouble) that I saw a bunch of ill-dressed ruffians (I called them douches) wearing t-shirts getting in just fine. How does a bedazzled tee supersede clean sneakers which Kanye wears to receive a fucking award? Whatever.
Can you prove there were people wearing sneakers?
The women try talking them into allowing it, and the bouncers just waste time. Wasting time is something they’re good at since it’s what they did in high school which led them to their current career path. Eventually we decide, fuck it, let’s get ghetto and we’ll go inside then have one of the girls walk out with one of the other guys’ shoes in her purse, give it to him, and have him walk in with those while the girl carries his shoes back inside with her purse. Miami style.
At this point I’m over this shit.
So we’re back in the line to get in, the girls get their wristbands and walk inside, but lo and behold, he stops the guys like a goddamn troll proposing a riddle and says “you guys have to go in through the front.” I say, “why? We’re on the list.” He looks at me, “because the ladies are going in here but you guys have to go through the front.” At this point I’m over this shit. “If that’s the case, why did I see a bunch of other guys walk in literally right before the girls did, and why didn’t you tell me this when you were scolding my friend over there for wearing sneakers?” He reiterates that we need to go through the front then proceeds to ignore me and starts motioning for the girls behind us to move forward. Son of a bitch. I wanted to find out who his mom was, seduce her, take photos of me blowing a load on her face, and email them to him as vengeance for being an asshole. I didn’t do it because he looked like the kind of Oedipal bastard that would jerk off to that during his smoke breaks.
I tell the guys to follow me and we’ll go through the front. When we get there, two of the guys already had wristbands since they had been there about an hour before we were and already went inside. Myself and another guy were walking in (sneakers dude was waiting outside for the switch, heh) and we get stopped at the register. This is what gets me kicked out.
Dude on the register looks like a retired child molester. Not like a guy that retired from molesting children, but a guy that retired from his 9-to-5 and took up raping kid faces full-time.
Not even a good evening, a smile, a “hey, how’s it going” with a hard face like some Italian cop that’s been working the same beat for 14 years; nothing.
Me: [With a fucking SMILE, I act like I’m in no way annoyed] Hey, how are ya? I’m actually on the list. It’s —
Register: List’s closed.
Me: No… that can’t —
Register: Closes at 12:30, $20.
Me: Right, [I pulled out my iPhone and showed him the time] but it’s 12:26, so I’m good. It’s —
Register: [He yells at me] THEY TELL ME TO CLOSE THE LIST, I CLOSE THE LIST.
Me: [My mood changes and I’m visibly annoyed now] Hey man, you need to calm down.
The guy that’s with me notices the friction and just pulls out a $20 and gives it to the guy then walks in. At this point, the bouncer who looked like that massive Chinaman who throws his shoe at Austin Powers walks over to me like he’s trying to intimidate.
Bouncer: What is this? You need to pay or leave.
Me: [I say this as calmly as I possibly can] Hi, listen, he’s telling me the list closes at 12:30 and right now it’s [showing the phone again] 12:27 so I’ve got a good 3 minutes before you close the list.
Bouncer: [He actually gets even closer to me] List is closed. $40.
Me: Dude, he just told me $20.
Bouncer: That’s for women.
Me: Uh, no, for guys, you just let him in with $20 and why would this guy quote me the female price?
Bouncer: $20 was before, for you it’s $40.
Me: FUCK YOU then.
Bouncer: [He gets up in my face] You need to get out.
I waved my arms in the air dismissively and walked out.
If I hadn’t come with my little sis and she wasn’t my ride, I would just leave and be done with it. But no, fuck these assholes. I sent her a quick text letting her know I was outside. She came out along with the two guys that had been there earlier. I ran what happened back to them and they were in disbelief but one of the guys mentioned how that same bouncer had been a bit of a prick earlier. They say they’re leaving anyway and I should take one of the wristbands which they just ripped off their wrists. I take that shit and basically tie it in a knot around my wrist. Then we make our way in through the other side of the front entrance for those already possessing wristbands.
I can get better booze drinking moonshine…
FINALLY, I’m inside where I can drink highly overpriced ice with watered down grade C liquor. I can get better booze drinking moonshine out of a hillbilly’s bathtub. Motherfuckers, really, a gin and ginger ale in what amounts to a paper Dixie Cup used for fluoride rinses quite literally overflowing with ice? How much is that going to set me back? Oh, I have to get a Chinese government bailout to afford it? Shit, Passion, you guys drive a hard bargain. I did buy drinks for the ladies (my sister and two of her friends, relax, I wasn’t breaking my rule) once the bottle(s?) ran out, and I made the mistake of putting in another order when my bartender was returning with the original order. I know, it’s such a burden to do your job when someone who placed an order has an addendum at a fucking bar but there’s little reason for you to roll your eyes because I’m adding an extra rum and coke.
I’d like to say the music was at least acceptable, but that would require them to finish playing a song. It felt like we were previewing songs in the iTunes store since none lasted more than 30 seconds and none started in the beginning. Way to go DJ, mass-preview an iMix and collect your check at the end of the night.
Passion, I’m not done fucking you yet. When I left, I made sure the bouncer saw me ripping off the wristband and dropping it on the floor as I made my way out. So help me, I want to go back there one day when I have nothing better to do and just fucking puke all over your bar counter. On alcohol I consumed from a flask I brought.
Hire more helpful staff, you overambitious shit show. If not, fuck you then.
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- 1 Seminole Way
- Hollywood, FL 33022
- (954) 235-6164