FREDDY WAITS IN LINE
Who's on the guestlist and who has to wait in line? Queuing has always been part of the allure of clubbing, where possibilities seem to be awaiting behind the closed doors.
Cold October night. Air is stiff. cold. Is that a drizzle he feels? Is that slight mist threatening to become a full down pour? He wants to pull out his phone to check Buienradar but he wants to keep his hands in his puffy down jacket a little longer to warm them up. Night out and there’s a line to the club.
Freddy is regretting coming out but he had already bought the almost forty euro ticket two days ago and the thought of putting the ticket on ticket swap was even more tiresome than just showing up. Besides it's Friday night. What's he gonna do, just sit at home and wait for something to happen? Is that how he'll meet the man of his dreams, by waiting at home and watching Dune for the twentieth time?
He was mad because he didn't realize that Midland had a gig until late last week. That meant all the early bird tickets at at the twenty euro price were already snatched up. To be honest he was surprised that there were any final ticket sales left. He didn't want to miss Midland. Not again. The last time he was playing in the city Freddy had an exam the following day so there was no way he was going to risk having to do a resit just to hear one of his favourite DJs. There was a time when he wouldn't have cared. The desire to go out would fire him up inside and off he’d go. To stop the FOMO in its tracks he turned off all the notifications on his socials so he wouldn't have to see how good the party was. He did pass his exam, but barely, which made him wonder if missing the party was worth it in the end.
He used to go out in the middle of the week, drink past four in the morning and sometimes have to take the metro home while the sun came up. Back at home he’d have enough time for a quick shower before stepping back onto the metro to head to the diner for the morning shift. All the interesting parties for the city dwellers always happened mid-week. Parties that happened on the weekend were for the bridge and tunnel folk, people who lived that safe 9-5 lifestyle and only made time for fun on Friday and Saturday. Freddy often found himself judging them. People who would just come in to the city to get rowdy and messy, puke and piss on the streets, start fights and treat the city like chew toy. Seasoned, city clubbers knew the drill. They knew how to have water between shots, take bumps in the shadows, exchange drugs with a non-chalant handshake. They understood how to let loose and be fabulous at the same time. Maintain. Save Face. One time when he was out with Daan and his friends he decided to take a whole pill instead of taking half as he normally did and for the rest of the night he had to actively remind himself not to grind his teeth into powder. For the next three days his jaw hurt like a mother fucker but when he texted with Daan later Daan said he couldn't tell at all. "You looked sober to me." Freddy was good at keeping composure while deep inside his mind was exploding in different directions.
The ticket line to get into the club to see Midland is long. Seems like everyone in the city has decided this is the place to be which is exciting. There's something really cool about feeling like you're in the middle of something. A happening. After many years of clubbing Fredy is almost embarrassed that he still gets that sense of excitement that this could be the night where something life-changing happens (even though it rarely ever does.) Even in the cold, there's an energy in the line, people are bubbling, anxiously waiting to get into the club and be enveloped by the warm, booming sounds. He wishes he had a cigarette even though he doesn't smoke. There's a group of guys ahead of him who have clearly pre-partied: the mist they make with their breath smells of beer and their rowdy deep voices make Freddy keenly aware that he's in line all by himself. Looking over at the group of guys, all of them over six-foot with blonde hair, he wonders why he's never been able to make a group of friends to go out with like that. They look so happy and carefree. He looks and wonders: what does it feel like? Being you? Being so easily digestible to the world. Blonde, tall, white, male. Is there anything in the world that actually scares you, makes you feel anxious or insecure? How does it feel to take up space the way that you all do? What does it feel like to never really worry about money? What does it feel like to never really care about being good in bed because you have a big penis so you never really need to try? What's it like to have a six pack just because of genetics? What's it like being that default kind of beautiful? To be oblivious?
Who's that stepping out from the Uber? Freddy shuffles back and forth from one foot to the other, the cold of the slightly icy sidewalk nipping at his toes. He tries to cover his face in the shadow of the group of guys as he watches Daan step out with one other blonde guy and a girl in an oversize leather jacket. All three of them get whisked in swiftly through the guestlist line. He had a feeling Daan would be going since he knew he liked Midland but hey hadn't texted in two weeks and Freddy didn't want to be the first person to reach out again. He wanted to wait and see if Daan would reciprocate but sadly there was nothing but radio silence. Watching him enter the club makes Freddy’s heart sink. He feels something snag in his throat and thinks he might be getting a cold. Fuck it, he thinks, maybe I should just go home, make some popcorn and watch Dune again.
The line inches forward. The group of guys ahead of Freddy are becoming more belligerent, accidentally bumping into the two girls ahead of them making them annoyed. One of the guys almost falls back onto Freddy and Freddy has to physically steady himself by pushing against the guy by placing his hands on the guy’s broad back. His other friend turns to Freddy and puts his arm around him, “hej, sorry hoor. My friend is a bit drunk.”
Freddy shrugs hoping that the moment will just evaporate and they’ll just leave him alone “is goed.” The drunk guy doesn’t even turn around to acknowledge Freddy but starts to sway. His friends hold him up and continue to laugh.
The guy with the clipboard is dressed in all black. Looking at the drunk guys just in front of Freddy he gives them all a once over. “Have you been to this club before?”
The one guy who apologized to Freddy on his friend’s behalf answers, “We heard there was a good party happening here tonight.”
The door guy is less than amused. “Do you know who’s playing tonight?”
“No not really.”
The door guy lets out sigh. “Ok, here’s the thing. It’s not even one a.m. and your friends here are clearly drunk. I’m gonna have to ask you to leave the line and sober up. Come back when you’re sober and we can see.”
The drunk guy perks up. “Serieus?! What the fuck?”
The door guy doesn’t budge. “I said step out of the line and sober up.” A bouncer guarding the entrance starts to walk over to the door guy. “Don’t make me say it again.”
Deflated, the group of blonde guys stagger out of the line.
Freddy is next and the door guys looks through him in an unimpressed manner. “Who you here with?”
“It’s just me.”
The door guy waves him forward. “Get a sticker for your iPhone. No photos in the club.”
As Freddy heads to the entrance, the warmth of the club beckoning him in, he hears the door guy say in his direction, “have a fun night.”
Maybe you don’t need a group of friends to have a fun night after all.