The problem with being an attractive, well educated, ballerific young woman on a Saturday night, is that, depending on the length of your freakum dress, it can be hard to distinguish yourself from less self-respecting clubbers. I get it. When I’m twurking ‘ to ‘Show Out‘ harder than Suzi Schwastey Face, I’m not exactly waving my degree in the air­. Suzi and her crew shook their hoo hoo’s and batted their eyelashes to get to the front of the line to get into the club though, and #TeamHellaSwag would sooner turn heel and head back to headquarters than suffer the unnecessary ill-will and poor attitude of some power hungry bouncer who’s waited all week for the opportunity to puff out their chest and crap on some poor drunk’s parade. If you think your sense of dignity will stop the bouncers and bartenders from popping off, you highly underestimate the disdain with which some of these people enter their jobs each weekend.

Take last Friday night at Vessel in downtown SF, for example. A few of the girls and I were on stage with the DJ (like you do), dancing to the music (which was  … ‘meh,’ in the “this used to be my favorite song, then you put a house beat behind it, and it turns out I only liked the bass line” kind of way), when we found out that one of our own was outside in line, which the bouncers had frozen, because it was on the early side, and people were not required to pay (People means ladies; Sorry, I know nothing of a man’s life) for another 10-15 mins. They literally had people standing out in the rain for no other reason than they wanted to force them to pay. And of course, they had an attitude on top of it. Shady, shady, shady.

Or how about the time a nasty bartender at the Hard Rock’s club, Vanity, in Vegas flat out refused to return my girl’s American Express card until she signed her receipt, saying something to the effect that he didn’t trust her, even though he was the one charging her for a glass of champagne that should have been included with the open bar happening all around. Not to worry though, after very civilly sicking management on him, we balled the rest of the night.

Moral of the story is, sometimes it doesn’t matter how well you carry yourself on a night out, a good pair of legs can ruin your “we-have-class” cred … and we have four of them. Oh well 🙂



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