Shanghai Clubbing

Mos Eisley; you will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy

My roommates wanted to go clubbing on a Friday evening, because apparently that is a thing that young adults do. Having never been before, I decided to go along with them and see what it was about. While I don’t tend to indulge in most of the ingredients of a typical night of hard partying, I was curious to experience it, especially as Mette assured us that we could get in to the nicer clubs for free thanks to our exotic origins.

Eight of us piled into a taxi (who overcharged us by a factor of about 2.5x what it should have cost because there were 8 of us and it was a Friday night…) and made our way to a club called ‘The Angle of X’. Tall men in dark suits ensured that we were, in fact, grade A imported meat before slapping bracelets on our arms and ushering us into a building with music so loud it was shaking my bones before I had even entered the outer vestibule.  I was mildly impressed by the bag check and a little “cell phone capsule hotel” where you could lock your phone in to charge in its own little room while you attempted to grind your daily worries out of your brain on the dancefloor.

This image brought to you by Google Image Search, as evidenced by the fact that less than 273 people are in it.

Immediately upon entering the club, I was struck by two things; first, that it was oppressively smoky, and second, that the entire place was more like a theatre than I was expecting.  There was a stage at the front, balconies as viewing platforms, attendants littered throughout the club like plants in a second-rate magician’s show, and theatrical lighting through the wazoo.  I am serious when I say attendants were everywhere.  I do not think there was a single place you could stand within that club and not be seen by at least one attendant.  This includes the bathroom; there were even attendants standing and watching you relieve yourself in the stylish urinals.

We headed up to the front of the dance floor where they had tables with very brave bartenders making drinks for the writhing, undulating sea of unwashed humanity that crowded around them.  The DJs that night were some Chainsmokers wannabes that did a pretty good job, all things considered.  As I flailed my appendages wildly, inhaling the smoke, sweat, and pheromones of those around me, my mind was unburdened and I was able to look around and really “see” what was going on around me.  A clarity descended upon my mind as a gentle garland of peace and otherness.

This whole place exists for a single purpose; to assault your mind, body and soul with enough force to drive whatever thoughts you would otherwise have completely out of your being.  As an outsider merely visiting this Temple of Altered State, I couldn’t help but admire the premeditated combination of loud, mindless music, complex visual effects, substance abuse, and sexual gratification.  I suddenly understood why people did this to themselves; it was freeing to push everything out of your mind and simply focus on the here and now, without a care for tomorrow.

It was suddenly very obvious to me that there were multiple, distinct groups of people mixing and merging under the wildly dancing lights:

• The Visiting Scholars; drawn by curiosity or an unusual opportunity, they engaged in dancing and drinking, but mostly kept their head above the waves, as it were.
• The Pampered Priestesses; fueled by the attention received on the dance floor, this group finds a satisfaction in the free drinks and sexual tension that directly feeds the ego with an intoxication that has nothing to do with alcohol.  As one woman so aptly put it: “I loved feeling so special, that they would give me free drinks and that I was treated almost like some kind of celebrity”
• The Acolytes of the Emptied Self; the most common attendee and a true adherent to the gospel according to TAXX.  The false freedom of self-destruction was a song that echoed constantly in their heads like a haunting melody, ever around the corner, yet constantly out of reach.  This group made me the saddest.

When we had had enough, I went around trying to collect all my roommates and ensure they had both kidneys.  While searching for one roomie, I discovered that the attendants will kindly but firmly make sure you only go where you’re allowed to, as you have to pay extra to stand in certain areas on the dance floor, or stand up on one of the couches.  Fascinating.  Trying to catch a taxi back to the apartment at 2:30am on a Saturday morning was more difficult than we expected, but a random stranger helped us to download a new taxi app, call the taxi, and help us navigate around.  We swapped wechats and he even checked in on us to make sure we got home alright.  I ended up talking with him a bit and it turns out he’s a programmer, so of course I had to share the Gospel of Julia with him.

I guess I did end up leaving with someone’s WeChat contact info after all.