Saturday, I made the mistake of traveling to the Kansas City LIVE! district. It was a friend's birthday and we all wanted to do something different. It is really a morbid curiosity that draws a person like me to the new downtown. I want to see what all the fuss is about, and ultimately, I want to prove myself right. I did.
Since its opening, I have heard the grumbles about dress codes, prices, and discrimination. While I did not pay much attention at that time, it became quite clear once I entered this outdoor cesspool of straight, white, mating rituals. To begin, we could not get into the Irish Pub because we dressed for the occasion...we were in summer clothes, which for me is a t-shirt and jeans. I found it odd as I looked into the crowd in the bar and saw at least a dozen women in t-shirts, albeit women's t-shirts, and still we were denied entry.
As with anything as arbitrary as the perception of a doorman, these dress codes are enforced at the whim of a thick neck dimwit. I still have yet to find anything on McFadden's website regarding their dress code, and found nothing indicating you can't wear a white t-shirt. I then went to the power and light district's website and after enduring the worst elevator music ever, I found their frequently asked questions and a link to their code of conduct. Since none of us were in violation of any of the listed banned clothing, I am still scratching my head as to why we were denied entry.
So, we went onto Fuego, which was at least funny. I have to admit, drunk straight girls are something to behold. The main attraction was a little blonde that I can only assume was hired by the establishment to pole dance and entice others to do the same since she didn't step down even once during the hour or so we were there. Swaying her hips and shaking her bust for an evening without taking her clothes off must have been quite a change for her, but she managed to pull it off. Negotiating the crowd proved to be precarious since there were various girls in skimpy clothing mimicking stripper dances such as the "reach down and touch your toes while shaking your ass routine." One girl in black and white had our attention for at least ten minutes with this move. I suppose she was waiting for a phone number or an offer for a ride home from an equally brain dead thick neck.
Eventually, we began the slow, follow the herd, walk to the car. Vertical Horizon (who in the hell is doing the booking for this ridiculous venue) was playing badly in the background, "dude" was echoing from several directions, and squealing laughter was shivering my spine. Half of our party got stuck in a trail of fill people, leaving us waiting outside the entrance to soak up a bit more mind-numbing escapades of the drunk, straight, homogeneous crowd.
The evening left me with a simple, satisfying feeling. All of these idiots have some place to go now. A central location for those who couldn't justify their existence let alone their use of vital resources such as air, energy, and food. However, with the advent of this new venue, I will not have to be exposed to these people on a nightly basis, when I find myself sipping my favorite whiskey, stepping outside to smoke, because you can't do both inside anymore. But, that is for another post.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment