Doing The Fool Pt. 1
When you promote clubs underage in LA there are five spoken and unspoken rules(check your math later).
Rule number 1. You are not underage.
Rule number 2. Don’t talk about rule number 1.
Rule number 3. Your friends are not underage.
Rule number 4. Don’t talk about rule number 3.
Lastly, rule number 5. Don’t get caught.
Birthdays for me are always a joyous time, and when you have a little help from the Russian Mafia on your 20th the outcome can be more eventful than you intended.
There is a full calendar of random things to celebrate at your leisure, but there is no easier excuse to celebrate than a birthday. You could do absolutely nothing after exiting the womb and people would still gather for you once a year to say, “Happy Birthday!” You’re alive and that’s reason enough for people to join you. Nothing more, nothing less, and nothing to prove for an accomplishment. I realized this early on in life and I was sold. Not for the attention but for the fun. Mix this with promoting clubs underage and I was in for a lethal combination.
Club and party life gives you skills that are not measurable on paper nor readily available to add in the resume section of your LinkedIn profile, but what it does give you are: life skills, social wherewithal, and lessons. Promoting clubs gives you all that with more accessibility, hierarchy, and lots of lots of lessons.
Like a moth to a flame was me to big birthday bashes, and my 20th exceeded my exceptions. I was convinced to take full advantage(which didn’t take much convincing) at a specific venue where I had access. Plus, my birthday fell right after an excess of built up good karma and credit that I could use at said venue. Pregame complete riding down Sunset Boulevard in a party bus stocked to the brim and filled with 25–30 of the usual suspects evened out the cost and headache to make it all palpable. The plan was set, and the plan was foolproof. I was no fool and the participants weren’t either. We had run the strip, we knew the spots, and everyone knew the five rules…except for one uninvited guest in a white micro-mini dress with matching pumps who ended up, doing the fool.
The Shakespearean fool is a recurring character type in the works of William Shakespeare. Shakespearean fools are usually clever peasants or commoners that use their wits to outdo people of higher social standing. However, this is not true when I use the term of someone who is, doing the fool. This person was no peasant or commoner and was not clever in any sense of the word. Explanation to come…
I am the first to make friends and don’t shy away from inclusion but the funny cigarettes before leaving may have clouded my judgement or caused me to not notice, micro-mini, to be in over her head already. Getting inside the venue was cake and on your birthday you want all of it. I was eating. The occasional petty drama and ruckus was non-existent. I had not a care in the world. In a haze of smoke on the outside patio a slap on the back from one of my most trusted friends jolted me to turn around. He held two drinks and I was told, “One to down. One to sip.” I could walk, run, or sprint the entirety of the grounds with my eyes closed, so it was a no brainier. This all happened at the very start of social media with AOL dialup so we talked and interacted fully with no filter. We were there to have a good time(see rule number 2 and role number 4), and we did.
A while later, a phone call gave me an in to a party in the Hollywood Hills starting soon. This was the next move. I knew the club was only the first stop, and so did the usual suspects. Calling the party bus driver I told him we were leaving in 45 mins. I went to relay the message when I was informed we may have encountered some minor turbulence. Micro-mini, had made some unsavory friends. This was nothing new for any of the usual girls so at first they brushed it off, but she had been missing for a bit. The bathroom door was also locked. I was used to the night throwing a curve ball so my response was, “She’ll be fine. We’ll get her.” I was not letting, micro-mini, stop the train so we continued on.
Leaving the venue we all realized, micro-mini, was not with and the bathroom the door was open and empty. The last thing you want on your birthday is a missing persons case, especially when you’re in the situation of spoken and unspoken rules. I ran to the party bus but no, micro-mini. No one had seen her. “Don’t leave!” I shouted as I ran back into the venue. I was greeted with open arms by the owner and a, “Happy Birthday!” I thanked him but quickly dove into the excuse that I HAD to leave right now, but not before asking if he’d seen, micro-mini. Of course he had. The owner nonchalantly expalined she left with, X, Y, and Z. He knew them? How did he know them? Was he a pimp? Disregard the last question, because all I needed was for him to tell me where they went and how to get in touch with them. He couldn’t, but reassured me she would be fine. When you are told by the owner you cannot know something about someone you understood what that means. If I’m promoting clubs underage there is more going on than the eye could see.
My mind raced but not as fast as my feet as I ran to the party bus. Jumping onboard a phone was shoved into my face. The door closed and the bus took off down Sunset Boulevard to the party in the hills.
The voice on the the other end switched my modes from drunken birthday bash to drunkenly sober panic.
“I think I’m with the Russian Mafia…”
