Lesson 3: The queue of a club says it..

Never enter a fishing site on the word of a door bitch.

Me: "How's the crowd inside? Is there people inside at all?"
Doorbitch: "Yep! The crowds all in. The place is pretty happening."

I think its part of their job to actually lie through their teeth and con people into thinking its the millennium countdown inside. "I don 't blame you for lying, I blame myself for believing." Guys, if you ever hear this, I'd say you'd probably have alot of fishing time on your hand soon.

Now back to the subject proper. There was this night when Pappy and I headed down on an impromptu trip to MS and unexpectedly landed up at DBL O. Anyway, there wasn't the usual queue so we figured they crowds must have passed cos the DBes(Doorbitches) were working more, frowning less and were less anal about photo IDs. Boy, was I wrong...

Pappy checked with the DB on the sit rep upstairs, only to be greeted by a super assuring "it's pretty happening", she could have sold us suckers a car that night and we would have bought it. So like absolute dickheads thinking with our heads (the other head), we began our foray into regret.

As soon as we got in, things looked wrong. No crowd at the pool hall. Still no crowd at the bag deposit counter and not a soul in the male toilets. We didn't need Nancy Drew to show us how things looked suspiciously wrong. The place was so sparsely populated, I felt like we were in Australia. Pappy shot me a "something's wrong" look.. well you don't say.. I think saw the signs and symptoms too. Self deludingly, we figured the crowd might be trickling in soon. This was to be the second time I am wrong in one night.

That night, I'd say there were like maybe 20 gals. ( I'm counting in butches and waitress) and almost all of them were Malays or Indians. No offenses to the Siti Nurhalizas and Aishwaras but where are the Gong Li's?

Then it hit me like a bus with a bumper sticker that scorned "I paid $20 for shit", it was the first night of the Hungry Ghost Festival, usually a night when Mummy's tell children to come home early and avoid going out. Well great, I wished my Mummy fucking told me about it too!

Freedom for me cost $20 that night.