Wednesday, September 06, 2006

Le Conversations with the P1 Doorman

Paris Hilton, teary-eyed after being rejected by Bungalow 8 in New York after the VMAs. Courtesy of

Me: [Teetering towards the entrance of the club, slowly, in heels, trying not to fall over]
Him: [Letting my friends in]
Me: [Strutting at a faster pace to catch up with friends and get let in] [I finally get to the door]
Him: [He stops me at the door. Sirens go off and a gate comes crashing down the entrance of the club. I am swarmed by militia ninja policemen dressed in black while a helicopter flies over my head. He pulls out a note pad and writes me a speeding ticket.] Do you know how fast you were going? Here is your fine. Pay at the bar.
Me: Does this fine come with a free drink?

I swear this is exactly what happened when I tried to get into P1 (the club in Munich). Except there were no sirens. Or gates. Or militia ninja policemen. Or helicopter. Yeah. It was kind of just me and him and a friend of mine. And by 'pulls out a note pad and writes me a speeding ticket' I actually I mean 'he stops me at the door, says "not so fast", makes me wait until he has asserted his power and satisfied his inferiority complex, and then he lets me in'. Eh. At least I got to dance to a remix of SexyBack.



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