By Jim Hall
“Brah! Life is meant to be lived! You wanna study…or get laid?!” My buddy had a point. We decided to go. But when? We’ve seen the flyers, we’ve walked upon the chalkings all over campus. We knew the deal: penny beers for the ladies, free admission with flyer before 11, half price admission after 11 but before 12 for the gents, full price after that, half price for the ladies until 1, but 1:37 A.M. for ladies over 21, under 21 ladies and over 21 guys reduced drinks without flyer from 10:31P.M. to 2:15 A.M. We knew it was a great deal.
We’d even seen the lascivious but profound poetry on the board in Javits 100: “18 to tease, 21 to please.” We knew about the benefits: $2000 falling from the ceiling at 2 A.M., cash prizes for sexiest person there, fake money that the ladies must “earn.” We remember those blustery autumn mornings when Nubar and Club Bianco flyers, strewn in a seemingly haphazard fashion across our campus, rode the wind like dead leaves, images of enticing girls forming a blur around us.
These palaces of libidinous overindulgence had been beckoning us into the epicenter of suburban Long Island ever since the beginning of the semester. The thought of nights lived fully was welling up in our hearts, minds and pants. The ad campaigns were working: word was spreading. It was high time we answered the call. Finally, my buddy and I were on the proverbial road to Nubaranco!
But when? We decided to wait for the right flyer – the one that spoke to us, the one we would instinctively feel to be our calling. I’ll never forget that morning. My buddy texted me. “I think you should see this,” he said. So I came over to his place. His daily flyer-underneath-the door, left in the middle of the night like a gift from a mysterious modern-day douchebag Santa Claus, seemed this time to be intended just for us. “Look at those tits,” my buddy said. “She’s exactly my type. I love blondes. Fuck!” I corroborated his sentiment about the model on that little slip of aqueous-coated paper. She was gorgeous – air-brushed, but gorgeous. Aside her torso read “18 to party, 21 to Bacardi.” Our favorite!!!
The flyer continued: “Love-the-Ladies Night.” Like music to our ears! We were ecstatic. But the icing on the cake was on the back. “DJ This-Lifestyle-is-Swallowing-Me-Faster-Than-A-Hooker spinning the hottest and the best.” ‘Nuf said. It was settled. By the time the cash fell from the ceiling (with the help of two days of Whey-binging), we would be men.
I was so nervous the entire ride there. But I knew, as soon as I stepped foot in Club Nubanco I couldn’t show it. I had the flyer in my pocket. I could glance at it in case I choked. Just remember: “18 to tease, 21 to please.” We chanted it a few times before getting enough courage to step out of the car. “18 TO TEASE, 21 TO PLEASE! 18 TO TEASE, 21 TO PLEASE!!” As we approached the entrance, we saw a large, muscular man at the door. “Look at his pecs! He must be the bouncer,” my buddy whispered. Holding the $20 for admission I walked up to the man. “Excuse me, sir. I know this is Love-The-Ladies Night…are we still allowed in?”
“What the fuck? This ain’t no fuckin lesbian bar,” he said. I barely had time to comprehend his hostility. We were in! The crowd was 90% dudes, despite the generous discount price for the ladies. But oh well, there were still some girls who seemed to be looking for a good time. I walked up to the bar with my flyer. “One free drink with flyer, please,” I requested with a confidence I never knew I had. I proudly revealed my flyer, the little piece of paper that started it all, to the bartender as I ordered a pint of their finest ale. The courage I mustered was in vain. He laughed, ripped it up and demanded $5. I responded, “According to this flyer, sir, I am entitled to one free beverage, courtesy of your establishment.”
The bartender grabbed me by the collar. “That’ll be five dollars, you fucking four-eyed toothpick!” Confound their false advertising! I managed $5 from pocket change, but had no time to fret over a few lost dollars. I had work to do. I saw a group of ladies dancing to one of the sickest beats I’d ever heard, so I went up and starting grinding up against one of them.
The look of disgust on their faces was very hurtful to me in hindsight, but at the time I couldn’t care less. I was living it up. I would just have to dance harder, better, faster, stronger…the ladies would come to me! In a matter of minutes, the music took over my body. I ripped my shirt off and threw it in a fit of unbridled passion. I called out, and gave thanks for this
I was hoping my Axe-drenched garbs would land in the arms of a girl like the one I saw on the flyer. Instead, when I came out of my daze and stopped to look, I realized my pants had landed in the face of the bartender. The drink he had been making spilled everywhere as he fell backwards onto the bottles lining the wall.
At once, the bouncer came inside. He was coming right towards me. That’s it. My night was over! The music came to a screeching halt as everyone started to point at me. Visions of what was about to happen filled my frantic mind. The bouncer would charge at me like a raging bull, casting my supple frame into the wall. He would pick up my limp body and crush it like a soda can between his massive pecs, depositing my frail person into a nearby trashcan to be mocked for the rest of the night. Instinct took over. I bolted into the back of the club, out an emergency door and into the parking lot. I ran like the wind, never looking back.
My buddy ended up having two threesomes that night. As for me, there’s always next semester.
