There are a lot of things about Black people that bothers me, but most things about Black people really makes me happy I’m Black. We’re the most ignorant self-pretentious individuals on the planet. I mean, where else can you find a bunch of people who show up at the club in five piece suits, order bottle service, and then by 2:45AM… GO HARD IN THE MUTHAF*CKIN PAINT! Have you ever seen that dude in the slacks, hard soled shoes, wife beater and a tie around his non-collared neck? That’s my man 50-grand. And yes, I’ve done that before, as a matter of fact, I was sleep in the club, but I had a good ass time.
Someone asked me one time, “Jay, why do you waste so much money on bottles in the club?” Now, in 2010, I shrug them off. I really don’t have a good reason, but back in the day, I gave a perfectly good reason, “The club is packed and I can’t enjoy myself. I pay a premium for space, the ability to get a drink when I want it, personal share of ice and mixers, and a place for my guests to interact without the foolishness.” Sounded good right? A few months later, someone told me, “It’s a shame you pay $120 for that Moet.” I was like, “No it’s not, and popped three more bottles.” The manager of that fine institution pulled me aside and said, “He’s wrong, that bottle of Moet costs $30, those hoes cost $90.” Those were the realest words ever spoken.
But nowadays, what does it mean to be VIP in a club? Did they really convince you to buy a $40 ticket instead of a $20 ticket so you could skip the line? Is that VIP? Love Nightclub in DC used to be the dumbest establishment for negros on the East Coast, they invented this system: The Free Pass or List line, The $20 line, The $40 short line, and the $60 Walk Straight In line. People, namely me, would seriously say out there mouth, “I’m going to valet my whip, drop the $60 and walk straight in.” Not for nothing, that costs about $80-100, provided you ain’t have no women with you. Those guys at the door had a knack for knowing that you wasn’t going to send your women to the $20 line, you would pay for them too. There was no politicking at the door.
What would you expect VIP to look like? Maybe it’s own private room, full of scantly clad women, the best of the best, free of freeloading dudes you don’t know, maybe a mirror and an ice sculpture just for effect? At least some strippers...
VIP is a roped off section on the dance floor, and if you’re lucky a big dude in the Black to keep ignorant Wacka Flacka wannabes from walking in. That’s if you’re lucky. If you’re a VIP why don’t they already have your table set up when you get there? Have you ever been moved around several times, because someone more VIP than you decided to come out? That blows. I’m sorry that happened to you. I was once a part of this exchange.
Manager: I gotta move you guys.
Me: But we bought all these tables.
Manager: I’m sorry, but he reserved it.
Me: But we bought like seven tables!
Manager: He has a Black card.
Me: ALRIGHT Y’ALL WE GOTTA MOVE!
They give you some bottle girl who is attractive, but don’t get it twisted she’s screwing the manager or owner of the club. I don’t know this to be fact, but I know that she’s not screwing me, and I’m currently paying her tuition. You mean to tell me that I’m about to give you a $600 tip, but I can’t take you out to eat? Ah, that’s right, because I’m a VIP. Don’t let her fool you broseph, you will get her number, but it will be only so you can work through her the next time you come to the club.
And the worst part about this entire operation is that you don’t get your drink any faster! I can’t count how many times I’ve had to go find my hostess to order another bottle. Or even if she comes right back she brings back the wrong bottle. My birthday party in Atlantic City a few years back, I order three more bottles of Moet… this heffer came back with Dom P. I had to throw a couch at my homegirls to make sure they didn’t open it. “Wait a mofo’ing minute! I said Moet Nectar Imperial, I’m drunk, but I can read, this is Dom P, and that’s not what I ordered!” (Look man, I was turning 22, I didn’t have it like that.)
The next time someone offers you VIP tickets give them the finger. No, really give them the finger and tell them you’d like your phone call. VIP these days means absolutely nothing. They don’t treat you like a VIP, they treat you like a high paying customer. They milk you like a cat. You get filed into your spot so that everyone in the club can look at you and your party and think to themselves, “Them guys are about to get got.” Negative chicks are looking at you like, “They think they doing something.” (Funny, those negative chicks be the same ones who ain’t doing nothing.) Gold diggng, I mean, Party girls are looking at you like, “Girl, turn around so he can see your booty, we about to get free drinks and a trip to the Diner.”
To me, if you are VIP, you should at least get comped. If I’m important to your establishment I shouldn’t have to pay. Valet should be free. And you should seek out chicks and bring them back to me. Honestly, think Rehab. Your party host will go and find people to bring to your party to make it popping. But outside of that, no way Jose. These club owners, promoters, and hostesses use VIP to mean Very Important Phool.
OK, I’m done with my venting, will be getting tables tonight somewhere. I’ll holla.