Trip Start Sep 28, 2011
Trip End Ongoing

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Flag of Germany  ,
Saturday, July 28, 2012

I've called time on my Friday night early to save myself for tonight.  Berghain.  Probably the biggest club in the world, and certainly one of the most famous.  It's a unusual mix of straight and hard core gay, with some of the worlds best DJ's spinning here week in week out to stunning women and guys with their shirts off.  I'm joining my German friends and we're going to attempt to get in.   Fort Knox.

I've googled "getting into Berghain" and it's second only to "getting into Harvard".  This isn't looking promising.  There's an awful lot of information regarding, what you wear, talking in the queue, how many people you're going in with, times to go, under the influence, etc, etc.  It's all a bit complex, but in the end I've decided to put on the kilt and just go for it.  I don't care if I don't get in.  If they don't want me, I don't want them.

HOW DARE THEY?!  I waited for two hours in a queue and arranged to take one for the team by going in alone.  I didn't want to drag anyone else down with me.  Two hours.  Two goddamn hours I could have been in a decent place with a beer in my hand, room to dance and a clear route to the bar.  Maybe even speaking to a girl.  My heart was in my mouth as I approached the door and we separated into the arranged groups.  Three hot women get turned down.  Five loud American boys get in.  My friends get in, then a girl I've been chatting to in the line gets turned away.  I'm next.  I step up, smile and respond "yes" when the doorman asks if it's just me.  "Not tonight" comes his one tone answer and points me away, just totally off the cuff, no thought into it at all.  A snap decision.  I turn and walk away without any altercation and catch up the young lady I was flirting outrageously with in line.  She has a boyfriend.

I'm raging in the taxi home.  Totally raging.  Perhaps irrationally so, but as I play the process over in my mind I can figure out no rhyme or reason as to who is allowed in and who is turned away.  It just makes me so angry that this nonentity on the door has a say in whether or not my night is good, and decided on a whim I was going home.  In Glasgow it's relatively simple; bring your I.D, don't turn up in a massive group of lads, don't wear trainers, and don't be too pissed.  I could have changed, gone back and tried later, but fuck them; I don't need their stinking best club in the world.  Their sweet, sweet, best damn club in the world.  I don't need it.  I returned home and cried myself to sleep.

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