Blood in the dancefloor
So, having lived so many years in Germany, I really really wanted to celebrate Carnival, the only week of the year which is worth dropping everything you are doing, taking a plane to Cologne (not to Duesseldorf), and binge drinking british style, until you end up in some train station a couple of days later, lying in a pile of dirt, beer bottles, and other drunken party goers, being picked up by a truck and thrown into some kind of recycling container, your body reduced to a pile of unusable garbage.
Now, being the lazy f***er that I am, I manage to forget booking the plane, with the confort that there is a place in London to celebrate the given thing, with just a 40 minute trip. Now I get to the damn place, and it turns out, it's SOLD OUT! And there isn't even a waiting list.
You see, i was kind of broken hearted, not only I have been caught by my boss attending a job interview, and having my beer stolen from the fridge by my flatmates. The door closed in my face, the sound of the Funny Carnival songs slowly fading away... What else could I do?, where else could I find lot's of disguised people, making fun of theirselves, and also completely, completely drunk? Hmmm, that sounds like ... a "posh" bar!
I will spare you the nitty-gritty of how to smuggle yourselves in one of those places, where the whole infrastructure is designed to avoid you getting in. Now, like every security system, it just takes a bit of hacking and social engineering to know the weak spots. So there I was happily sitting in the couch, drinking my seriously overpriced beer.
This is strange, this place is actually kind of "nice"... There must be something I'm overlooking.
...fifteen minutes later....
"Hmm, it seems I don't have any space for all this beer ... perhaps I should go to the loo, and relieve myself a bit? ....."
...five minutes later....
"Where's you stamp?" - says the woman now blocking my way.
"What stamp?" - I ask.
"The stamp to get in to this area" - Miss Macho woman says, fists to hips, a bit like a lesbian version of Wonder Woman.
"But I was sitting there, didn't you see me?" - I reply.
"I'm sorry, this is the VIP area." - She says, convinced she has thrown out the final argument.
"Oh, ... so I was a VIP, and I didn't know it?"- I exclaim, enlightned by my answer.
Security guard woman, ignores my witty comment, leaving my no choice but to ... head to the bar like a chicken.... and then I saw him: Weird Guy.
Weird Guy was dancing ..., well, weirdly kind of dancing.
... ninety minutes later ...
"That looks dangerous, what that Weird Guy is doing..."
... a hundred an eighty minutes later ...
"Hmmm, I wonder what those people are looking at over there", I mutter to myself.
It's Weird Guy ... lying in the floor, unconscious, security runs to the scene, looking for the whodidit, but amazingly nobody seems to know. Maybe he fell?
People go back to the dancing.
I stand there looking at the floor.
There's a lot of beer in the floor, and it seems somebody has been drinking some strawberry cocktail. Nah, that's no cocktail ... that's BLOOD, oh my god!
So I try to tell the nice lady dancing on top of the little blood pool, to please stop fiddling with the scene of the crime, but she seems to be purposefully ignoring me... This remind me a bit of ... what's the name of that movie? Blade?
Lesbian Wonder Woman is investigating the issue so I bring that little bit of information, the dancefloor is a pool of blood, to her attention. She immediately brings up some big south african bouncer which stands shielding people from the mess with his body, arms fully stretched, a cleaning squad promptly getting rid of the evidence.
I never saw Weird Guy again.
So, having lived so many years in Germany, I really really wanted to celebrate Carnival, the only week of the year which is worth dropping everything you are doing, taking a plane to Cologne (not to Duesseldorf), and binge drinking british style, until you end up in some train station a couple of days later, lying in a pile of dirt, beer bottles, and other drunken party goers, being picked up by a truck and thrown into some kind of recycling container, your body reduced to a pile of unusable garbage.
Now, being the lazy f***er that I am, I manage to forget booking the plane, with the confort that there is a place in London to celebrate the given thing, with just a 40 minute trip. Now I get to the damn place, and it turns out, it's SOLD OUT! And there isn't even a waiting list.
You see, i was kind of broken hearted, not only I have been caught by my boss attending a job interview, and having my beer stolen from the fridge by my flatmates. The door closed in my face, the sound of the Funny Carnival songs slowly fading away... What else could I do?, where else could I find lot's of disguised people, making fun of theirselves, and also completely, completely drunk? Hmmm, that sounds like ... a "posh" bar!
I will spare you the nitty-gritty of how to smuggle yourselves in one of those places, where the whole infrastructure is designed to avoid you getting in. Now, like every security system, it just takes a bit of hacking and social engineering to know the weak spots. So there I was happily sitting in the couch, drinking my seriously overpriced beer.
This is strange, this place is actually kind of "nice"... There must be something I'm overlooking.
...fifteen minutes later....
"Hmm, it seems I don't have any space for all this beer ... perhaps I should go to the loo, and relieve myself a bit? ....."
...five minutes later....
"Where's you stamp?" - says the woman now blocking my way.
"What stamp?" - I ask.
"The stamp to get in to this area" - Miss Macho woman says, fists to hips, a bit like a lesbian version of Wonder Woman.
"But I was sitting there, didn't you see me?" - I reply.
"I'm sorry, this is the VIP area." - She says, convinced she has thrown out the final argument.
"Oh, ... so I was a VIP, and I didn't know it?"- I exclaim, enlightned by my answer.
Security guard woman, ignores my witty comment, leaving my no choice but to ... head to the bar like a chicken.... and then I saw him: Weird Guy.
Weird Guy was dancing ..., well, weirdly kind of dancing.
... ninety minutes later ...
"That looks dangerous, what that Weird Guy is doing..."
... a hundred an eighty minutes later ...
"Hmmm, I wonder what those people are looking at over there", I mutter to myself.
It's Weird Guy ... lying in the floor, unconscious, security runs to the scene, looking for the whodidit, but amazingly nobody seems to know. Maybe he fell?
People go back to the dancing.
I stand there looking at the floor.
There's a lot of beer in the floor, and it seems somebody has been drinking some strawberry cocktail. Nah, that's no cocktail ... that's BLOOD, oh my god!
So I try to tell the nice lady dancing on top of the little blood pool, to please stop fiddling with the scene of the crime, but she seems to be purposefully ignoring me... This remind me a bit of ... what's the name of that movie? Blade?
Lesbian Wonder Woman is investigating the issue so I bring that little bit of information, the dancefloor is a pool of blood, to her attention. She immediately brings up some big south african bouncer which stands shielding people from the mess with his body, arms fully stretched, a cleaning squad promptly getting rid of the evidence.
I never saw Weird Guy again.
