On Friday night, I ended up at The Casino Rooms, which is a nightclub in Rochester. I’d been only twice before; once, when I was pretty pissed and nowhere else was open and on a second occasion when I was still pretty sober yet was turned away on the door for being “bladdered”. Technically, that doesn’t count as a second occasion, but I’m building up a picture for you.
I can’t remember much about my first visit, due to my level of drunkedness at the time, so I don’t know if anything has changed since then or whether it’s always been just as shit.
The place is a dive and even that’s a nice way of describing it. It’s £5 to get in and the drinks are cheap, but you truly get what you pay for. The floor was sticky and the young, inexperienced bar staff have no concept of the “first come, first serve” concept. Some people would wait for 5 or 10 minutes before being served whilst others would be served instantly.
On Friday night, there seemed to be an Alan Carr theme- most of the child-like staff were wearing big, black comedy glasses. Personally, I didn’t understand the relevance.
There was a young, comedy-bespectacled girl who was wandering around and selling shots of something red, but she only seemed to wander around the same area; thus minimising the potential market for sales of red stuff. Anyone with an IQ of more than your average badger would realise that after asking the same people if they want to buy a shot 3 or 4 times in the space of 15 minutes and being told “no, thank you” each time, you should move on to somewhere else. The not-quite-the-IQ-of-a-badger girl was clearly employed as eye-candy only; I doubt she had any involvement with the accounts.
The management apparently knew in advance that the DJ would be shit (he kept bringing the next track in too soon and would need to fade it out again or when he did bring it in at the right time, the tempo was wrong) so preparations were made and Big Bang Theory was showing on the TV screens. It’s a shame I can’t lip-read, because I don’t think I’ve seen the episode that was on at the time. Sheldon’s voice would have been much more pleasant to listen to than the hash of music thrown together by the inept DJ, who was clearly more accustomed to having ‘sessions’ at home in his bedroom, on his own.
I’m not old in any sense of the term, but I felt old at The Casino Rooms; I can only assume that some of the fake ID’s used to gain entry had sticky-back plastic on the front of them to make them seem more genuine.
90% of the people in there can’t have been much older than 22- they were all so baby-faced. There were even a few boys and girls in there who had acne and looked like they were barely 15.
It’s embarrassing when anyone puts themselves about a bit, but when it’s a not-unattractive girl, perhaps no older than 18, it’s just painful to watch. This one particular girl was everywhere; rubbing, grinding against and kissing every single boy within arm’s length of where she was. Of course, none of the boys needed much persuading although one of them did end up with a stranger’s chewing gum in his mouth.
I thought I’d save the best bit for last- this isn’t an exaggeration or a joke.
A young girl came and put her drink next to me on the table so that she could go and get pregnant on the dance floor. She very politely asked me not to spike her drink, before going off to find someone to finger her in an attempt at foreplay.
I’m still undecided as to why she asked me not to spike her drink. Was it because I look like someone who would spike her drink, or was it because having her drink spiked was commonplace?
Either way, I felt that the request to not spike someone’s drink was the final reason needed to never visit The Casino Rooms ever again, even if it is one of the last places open in Rochester on a Friday or Saturday night.