I GOT KICKED OUT OF A SWANKY NYC NIGHTCLUB

WARNING: Links are probably not appropriate for work.

I am rarely left speechless, but last Thursday has left me mute. What started off as a night watching drag queens do their best death drop, ended in getting kicked out of an erotic nightclub.

Let's start from the beginning. It was Thursday, April 12 at 6:00pm when I received a text from my friend *Jeremy - "Do you want to go to the Museum of Sex with me? There will be drag."

(Side note: Yes, the Museum of Sex is what you think it is. Part of the museum is a bar that hosts weekly RuPaul Drag Race viewings followed by some real life queens.)

Because of the impending uncertainty of my future in New York (and my love of drag), I figured what the hell.

We walked the two blocks to the Museum of Sex, where we were greeted at the entrance by a woman with an eyepatch. (I never got the full story as to why she had an eyepatch. Bummer.) Jeremy strutted into the bar as I followed behind him like a much bigger, frumpy shadow. Everyone there seemed to know him - bouncers included. Turns out Jeremy was quite the regular on Thursday nights.

The eclectic clientele raged from university students with club kid makeup looks to middle-aged couples who probably held 9-5 jobs. Every color, gender and orientation was out to have a good night. Very much like the queer UN I've always dreamed of.

After an hour of awkwardly dancing, watching drag queens, and multiple smoke breaks (for Jeremy, not me), the club began to wind down. Jeremy was ready to find the next party and didn't have to look far for it.

"Do you want to go to The Box?" he asked me. "My friend *Liam is a club promoter there. I usually go with him."

I stood there and contemplated the direction of my night. Should I go home, get in bed, and be generally lame or should I see where the night and Jeremy take me?

I decided to choose the latter - mainly because I put on a full face of makeup and had only been out for an hour, but also because I'd been promising Jeremy I would go out with him.

He hailed a taxi and we were off. During the 10 minute cab ride Jeremy gave me the rundown for the club.

1. "To get a table at this club costs thousands of dollars."

2. "There is unlimited bottle service, but do NOT pour yourself a drink until Liam has poured one for himself."

3. "You are going to see some shit, but you CANNOT take pictures or videos or they will kick us out." (Then he proceeded to tell me a story about a burlesque dancer who shoved a grape where the sun doesn't shine.)

We waited outside the unmarked club for Liam to arrive, giving me just enough time to mentally prepare for rejection at the door. I tried my best to look as if I was supposed to be there. You know, fake it till you make it? Once our group approached the entrance, the bouncer told Liam he could only bring in 8 people. There were 10 of us and I was pretty sure I wasn't going to make the cut. Jeremy grabbed my hand and pulled me to the front of the line. The bouncer opened the door and let us in without any hesitation. I suppose it had something to do with the fact a club promoter was by our side and not because we successfully played the role of two high-rolling bitches. Luckily, the bouncer didn't ask to see Jeremy's questionable ID.

My first thought upon entering the club was, "what the hell am I doing here?" The swanky theater turned nightclub was far too boujee for my broke-ass. The first room, which featured a bar and an aerial hoop dancer hovering above, led into the main theater portion of the club. Tea candles placed on tables around the room made for an intimate setting. Much like myself, I was certain this place looked far less impressive with the lights on. We were escorted to a table right in front of the stage. (How did Jeremy and I manage to get the best seats in the house??) Moments later a man in a tuxedo vest and bow tie approached the table between the two couches we were seated at. A silver platter of champagne, vodka, and tequila bottles was placed down next to two ice buckets. Another waiter came out with mixers and a handful of champagne flutes and glasses.

Jeremy was quick to pour me a glass of tequila and I was quick to water it down with some juice. I learned a lot that night, including that I am not a fan of tequila. I also learned that pop culture is correct - drug use is commonplace in the affluent New York club scene. The club began to fill up with people. I was confused as to why so many people were out on a Thursday night. Didn't these people have to be up for work in the morning? Before I knew it a couple hours went by and numerous drinks were spilled on me. It was finally time for the show to start.

ACT 1: The Opening Number

The first performance was not too far from what I was expecting - a burlesque routine by three gorgeous dancers with an opening song performed by the MC. Of course the envelope had to be pushed and nudity was not the stopping point. The MC came down the steps of the stage and asked for an audience member. As she stood right in front of me all I could think was, "Please, God not me. Anyone but me."

Luckily, Jeremy was more than willing to partake in whatever they were planning behind the scenes. The curtain drew, the MC began to sing and poor champagne over her chest, and moments later the burlesque dancers commenced. Jeremy was sitting on a chair giving his best pout for the crowd. One dancer was holding a bottle of champagne as she then popped it open, handing it to the dancer directly in front of Jeremy. She took a big swig of bubbly then spit it all over Jeremy's face. Talk about an ending.

ACT 2: Mr. Roboto

Compared to every other act, this one didn't land for me. More or less it was a man breakdancing/doing the robot. I don't want to minimize his talent, because he was very good at what he did, but it seemed a bit too "America's Got Talent" for the X-rated club.

At this point Jeremy returned to his seat and was ecstatic he was the chosen one for the burlesque number.

ACT 3: The Perverted Boss

As Frank Sinatra played in the background, the curtains opened to the scene of an old man at an office desk smoking a cigar. A woman in a very short green dress entered the stage holding a stack of papers. As she placed them down on the desk, the boss-figure was quick to push them onto the floor. Unbeknownst to her, the man began snapping pictures of her bare behind while she bent over to retrieve the documents.

It was all fun and games until he asked the office assistant to fix him a drink. This was her moment to take revenge on the bastard. She turned to the crowd and eluded to a bottle of poison as she poured it into the glass of Scotch. In a last attempt to get frisky with the office assistant, the perverted boss pulled out his genitals. Yes, the full Monty. (I guess this is legal??) The assistant grabbed the stapler and stapled his penis to the desk. Now this is how you smash the patriarchy.

ACT 4: A Sword Artist

Continuing on with the freak show, the next performance featured a sword swallower. He started off small by gulping down some golf balls then regurgitating them at the audience. Talk about a party trick. Of course the fun didn't stop there. He then moved onto a 3-foot sword and finished the act by dangling from the ceiling by a sword in his mouth.

ACT 5: COCAINE - The Closing Line

It wouldn't be an upscale New York nightclub without some cocaine, right? A man in a tacky '70s get-up entered from the side stage followed by three burlesque dancers in sexy nurse costumes. He began singing a song about his love for cocaine and proceeded to snort the white powder off the nurses' bodies. (I'm unsure if this bit was referencing a pop culture phenomenon before my time, but whatever the inspiration was, it went directly over my head.)

As a grand finale the singer pulled out a big bag of cocaine and ripped it open, covering the front row. It was in my hair, my purse, and somehow on my phone even though it was tucked away. My black dress was caked in fake blow. I licked my lips. It was powdered sugar. The rich are into some weird shit.

(Low-quality video of Jeremy and me getting covered.)

At this point I was sticky, tired and over pretending like I belonged at this club. Jeremy wanted to stay longer for the second show (how could anything top the first?), but I was ready to turn back into a pumpkin. He went outside for a smoke break and I prepared to get an Uber back home. I felt bad leaving my heavily intoxicated friend there to fend for himself so I thought I'd better stick around for a little while to give him a chance to sober up. After a cigarette, Jeremy and I walked back up to the bouncer and flashed him the stamp on our wrists required to get back in. To the side of the red velvet rope was a disheveled looking man with a unkempt beard and scarf draped over his head.

He kept shouting at Jeremy, "Hey, kid! Hey, kid I'm talking to you!" I was confused. Was this man homeless or on drugs? What was his deal? The bouncer looked at Jeremy and said, "He wants to talk to you." Then all hell broke loose.

The disgruntled man began yelling at Jeremy.

"Who the f-ck do you think you are? I saw you, I know what you did. You think you can come in my club and interrupt my show."

Jeremy was even more confused than I was. "Sir, I didn't interrupt your show. I was called onto the stage."

"I know who the f-ck is supposed to be on my stage and who isn't. You think you can push your way to the front and take a seat wherever you want. Do you know who the f-ck I am? I f-cking own this place. I can destroy you. I suggest you apologize and get the f-ck out of my face."

I later did some research and found out the irate man was indeed the owner of The Box. I don't know if he was drunk, on drugs, or had some anger management problems (I am not trying to get sued for defamation), but either way our night was coming to an unfortunate close. We got endless bottle service on his dime, so who is the real winner?

After a $10 cab ride back home, I showered, washed my hair twice (powdered sugar is a bitch and a half to get out) and put myself to bed. Before setting my alarm, I decided to do a quick Google search of "The Box NYC." There it was, a Google review for the swanky, "exclusive club" with a $$$$ price rating and celebrity clientele including Elon Musk, Owen Wilson and Kate Hudson.

I think I will stick to my day drinking and dollar pizza for now on. But am greatly appreciative for a friend and night that got me out of my box (pun intended).

* indicates a name change to protect anonymity

#NYC #nightlife