The Wake

I attended a club night north of London last night (Watford area to be exact). It’s a good 50 minutes outside of the city. I took the bakerloo to then end of its line, and was picked up from there in a car for the remaining 20 minute drive. We stopped by a house out in the London burbs. The kids there were watching Superbad, and we’re qute intrigued to meet someone who had actually owned a fake id. We took off from there and hit the main drag of clubs on Watford High Street. The evenings events reminded me of a particular song on the very subject of clubbing in England.

The song is called “From the Ritz to Rubble.” It was on the Arctic Monkey’s debut album. The song starts out with the lyrics,
” Last night these two bouncers
And one of em’s alright
The other one’s the scary one
His way or no way, totalitarian
He’s got no time for you
Looking or breathing
How he dosen’t want you to
So step out the queue
He makes examples of you”

The words rang quite true, as bouncers in these more rural areas do take great pleasure in the small amount of authority they’ve been afforded. It’s a sad and comical situation altogether, and one that’s best to be passively observed. They are quick to insult, and frequent to take satisfaction in physical altercations. One of the girls I was with was provoked by a bouncer this very night.

He was restructuring the line, curling it around the side of the building. He strolled, shoulders puffed, pushing all patrons to the newly designated area. When the girl I was with was moving at what he deemed to be too slow a speed, he commented, “Fucking it ain’t rocket science, darling, move your ass over here.” Had I been anything but an American surrounded by rural living Brits, surely to detest such a man, I would have spoke to her defense. However, she chose to address the matter with a roll of the eyes, and I followed suit.

There was a similar situation at a downtown club a while back. One of my American flat mates had sworn loudly while in line. The bouncer took this opportunity to send all of the guys in our party to the back of the line, (or queue as it’s referred to here.) I tactfully snuck in with a different crew, and was able to sneak in unnoticed. This was fortunate as I ended up meeting a Lawyer and an Actress who took pity on a poor student and paid for several of my drinks. My flat mates never ended up making it into the club. They later informed me of how, after waiting from the back of the line patiently for a good 25 minutes, they were again denied. The bouncer gave them a hearty smile, and told them there was no swearing allowed in his line, especially (and probably only) when it comes from Americans.

Moral of the story being, beware of British bouncers.

Listen to the song here.