The things LG does so you bastards don’t have to! On Saturday night, I traipsed along to the RSVP Lock and Key singles night, with Trusty Friend 1 (a normal looking woman) and Trusty Friend 2 (a disgustingly stunning tall and skinny individual) in tow. Her usefulness will become apparent later.
You may remember that my last experience with RSVP resulted in my sitting in a cinema for 2 hours with a man that smelled of urine, and swearing off dating forever. Therefore, halfway there I was wondering what the hell I was thinking, going to this thing. Then I remembered that it had been so long since I have had sex that the spiders have turned their cobwebbed 2 bedroom 1 bathroom semi detached into a 6 story apartment block. Into the fray!
Immediately prior to entry a cunning plan was hatched –Trusty Friend 2 would act as a lure – the men would come to talk to her, and get stuck with us instead. TF2 expressed her horror – as she was terrified of the idea of talking to anyone. We assured her we’d take care of it. As soon as we entered the venue, the fear of talking became a moot point. The music was so loud I had to scream at the woman checking names to tell her who we were. We were then given a key, and advised the guys would have locks. Great. Super. Oh, and that if you found your “matchâ€, you got a prize. TF2 promptly put her key in her pocket where it remained for the rest of the night.
We made our way to one of the many many free tables near the (empty) dancefloor. And got alcohol. I have to admit, my first impression was that it would be a great singles night if there were some men there. We sat and drank our wine, and realised how many people here we knew. The few men that were present remained mostly around the back walls. The women hit the dance floor. Except LG. LG doesn’t dance.
After a while, a few people had drunk enough alcohol to get up and dance with people of the opposite sex. TF1 found her match. She was very excited, and went up to get her prize. A pink feather scrunchie. Yee-Har! Oh, and she got the LAST pink feather scrunchie. There were only a few prizes.
As the night rolled on, the majority of people stood around looking at one another, or got up to dance. Very few people actually had the guts to talk to anyone else. Maybe it was because of the screaming over the music thing. Eventually I got jack of it, and decided to use the teenage “My friend thinks you’re hot†thing. It worked. TF1 got to dance and chat with a guy she thought was hot. I didn’t think anyone was particularly hot. But since no-one thought I was hot either, it evened itself out.
I guess the main difference between this night and any usual nightclub night (from what I remember of when I last did it 10 years ago) was that people were very pleasant. The guys let the women go first at the bar (of course, it still took 30 minutes to get a drink because of the sheer volume of women) and the women smiled politely at people they would normally ignore. Although there were a number of creeps. Case in point: The guy that came over to talk to me because he was obviously very interested in TF2. He asked me to try my key. I thought he was horrible, but because everyone else was being so pleasant, I did. His lock opened, but HE KEPT HIS FINGER ON THE END SO I WOULDN’T KNOW IT HAD OPENED. Personally, I think this is very bad form. So now I’m gonna name names. Murray, the former Air Force officer who now works at Defence in Russell Offices: You could be forgiven for being short, fat, balding and ugly. But your obnoxious personality, complete lack of personal hygiene and obvious drinking problem means you will NEVER have sex that you don’t have to pay for.
So to wrap up: The music was too loud, the advertised “prizes from our sponsors†didn’t exist and the gender ratio was completely unbalanced. However, a lot of people seemed to have a good time, lots of dancing was done, and, for 10 bucks, I have to say that I didn’t have a horrible time.
So maybe some matches were made, and good luck to them. But for this intrepid reporter, the whole thing was a waste of lipstick.
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