Mister Green

I Am Old

The wedding was fine, and the bachelor party was a blast up until the point where we went to Club Permanent Hearing Loss. This was not my choice; it was the groom’s. After being there for several hours, I can honestly say that there is little in life I would rather do less than be there. I hate dancing, insanely loud noise, comically overpriced drinks, and smelling like cigarette smoke at the end of a night out. I am unimpressed by smoke machines, strobes, and laser lights – the blinding, seizure-inducing light effects made it impossible to properly ogle the attractive and scantily-clad young women on the dance floor, which would have been the only good thing about the entire experience. (At least, until they realized they were being ogled by a creepy old guy and moved to a different part of the club.) The music was so loud it gave me a funny feeling in the pants – and not the good kind. I could feel my pants moving against my legs with the beat. I couldn’t understand what anybody was saying to me unless they screamed in my ear.

I would have hated being there 10 years ago, when I was single and only slightly above the average age of the crowd. Now, I really really hated it. And I felt like a crotchety old man for not having any fun.

But as I said, it was a blast up until that point. We drank some great Scotch, had a nice dinner, and thoroughly enjoyed when one of the other groomsmen, a real player if ever I saw one, turned on the charm and successfully got the phone number of a woman who turned out to be a prostitute. Good times.