People over 40 should be banned from clubs
One of the biggest obstacles I have to overcome as a 20-year-old woman with a passion for nightclub dance floors is the bouncer who stands between me and said dance floor.
You’d think the legal drinking age would be enough to get in. Unfortunately, Dublin is a long way from Moore’s Utopia. And many of Dublin’s nightclubs require you to be 21 or older.
Now, when a bouncer greets me with a shake of the head, the familiar “not today,” a shrug and a sigh, I’m far from giving up. I don’t like rejection. So I’ve become pretty adept at talking my way in.
I start with the basics: I smile, tuck my hair behind my ears and say “please.” Then I gently remind the bouncer that I’m 20, almost 21. So what’s the difference, really?
If that doesn’t work, I say my friends are already inside and just bought me a drink. At this point, I’m desperate.
If the requirement is expressive dance, someone please hold my bag. You are about to witness the performance of a lifetime.
And I understand the age restrictions. You can spot the bubbly 18-year-olds from a distance. The ones who think about the order in which they eat salt, tequila and a slice of lime. And I was once that girl.
I can safely say that I would not want to go to a nightclub with my 18-year-old self. Using a provisional driver’s license as ID? Jesus. Can someone put a curfew on this girl?
I recently sneaked into a nightclub that only allowed 21-year-olds and no expressive dancing was required. When I walked in, I was a little shocked and very disturbed by the age group that populated the dance floor.
When I heard the nightclub was for 21-year-olds, I thought the crowd might be a little more mature. But I wasn’t prepared for the number of suits gyrating on the dance floor.
It was a Friday night. These guys in suits had spent the day at the office crunching numbers or whatever. They hadn’t managed to go home and change between work and the club.
And then they acted surprised when they didn’t recognize the songs being played. Sorry, Mr. Gen X, but you’d have to spend a lot more time on Instagram to understand the relevance of Chappell Roan right now.
You probably don’t have time for that kind of thing if you were born in the 20th century, your child’s communion, your mortgage, your pension, your life insurance, and everything else you have to think about. I don’t know.
I understand you’re never too old to have fun, but I’m afraid you won’t fit in as well on the D2 dance floor as you might think.
Some more age-appropriate alternatives might be a quiet drink in your local pub, a cup of tea in your living room, or maybe even a sociable game of checkers.
But when I see someone my parents’ age trying to do a polonaise in the club, I don’t know where to look.
What should I do if they fall over? Sprain their back? Especially when their dinner has probably been ready and waiting for them since 4 p.m.
I feel like I should offer to call them a cab to get them home safely. Maybe I should even offer to get their walker from the coat rack. They probably haven’t been out this long since the Clinton administration.
Look, I’m 20, so anyone over 40 seems like an ancient monument to me. And I’m sure that when I’m 50, I’ll still think I’ve got it. Then I’ll have to be dragged off the dance floor, my walking stick in tow.
But right now, the feeling of watching my dad dance to Taylor Swift is a nightmare. I’m just a girl, too innocent to witness such an atrocity.
I don’t want to offend anyone. I’m just asking: If the bouncer tries to turn me away at 20, maybe there should be some kind of upper limit?
For example, if you know how to tune a radio, D2 on a Friday night might not be the place for you. I’m just asking the question.
