It's a Hard Knox Life.

We went out for drinks last night, which is never smart. We met up at this bar called Dusk, a little place in Chelsea. When we first got there, it was us, and maybe three other guys. Then, for some reason, girls just started cascading in, non-stop, for at least twenty minutes. And then no one else came in after that. It was really strange. It went from being eight guys sitting around staring at each other, to, well, eight guys sitting around staring at girl's asses. We stared for awhile, but the night was wearing on, so we reluctantly decided to leave. We were flip flopping between getting a piece of pizza and calling it a night, or staying out. Finally, this guy with us named Jessie says, "I know a girl who's working at the 40/40 Club right now. Wanna go there?" What?! Fuck yeah, I want to go there! If you don't know, the 40/40 Club is the sports bar Jay Z owns, and I instantly had visions of strippers and Cristal dancing in my head. So we headed over there, and standing at the front door was the widest black man I've ever seen, although, I'm sure the Wide Black Man who works on weekends is twice as wide. I was like, "this is gonna be a problem, and if it's not, this club is lame." It wasn't a problem. He looked at our IDs and opened the door for us. Hmmm...I bet Weekend Wide Black Man isn't that accomodating.
So we got inside. There was supercool furniture, an elaborate bar, a huge TV screen showing a basketball game; it was everything I had hoped for. The bottom floor was reserved for a party, so went upstairs. Upstairs there was a long hallway, with these frosted glass doors every thirty feet or so. Behind those doors were huge VIP rooms, complete with a monsterous couch/bed thing (for rappers to boink strippers on, I think), big screen TV, and pool table. And, of course, the walls were covered with autographed jerseys. It was fuckin' rad. And each room had a glass case with two bottles of $2,000 cognac. The girl we were meeting there was doing promotion for a gin company. She gave us each a coupon for a free drink, so I ordered some gin martini, but also ordered a Coors Light, knowing I would need something to wash that nasty shit down with. My martini looked like Windex with a leaf in it. And my Coors Light cost $6.50. Then, as drunk Knoxes do, I started asking the waiter stupid questions. Was it just awesome on weekends? Did Jay Z actually come in anymore, or did he lose interest after two weeks? He told me that, "actually, he's here right now. I just brought him some buffalo wings and fries. He has a back office that he uses." I only believed him because I really wanted to. Something tells me he eats more spinach salads than wings these days, but what do I know. Anyway, the room was amazing, and to be honest, I felt a bit out of place. Seriously, how VIP can a room be if I'm in it?
I went to the ultra chic bathroom, since I had to take an ultra chic piss, and it was confusing. Imagine a pentagon, surrounded by a little hallway. There were five individual stalls behind even more frosted glass doors, in each corner of the pentagon. Yeah. Whatever. So this really hot girl comes out of the stall, and I go in. My. God. This girl must've eaten a mayonnaise factory for dinner, because she left a vomit-inducing stink behind. I swear, it smelled just like a gas station bathroom.
On the way out, Weekday Wide Black Man gave us a pound, and we were on our way. That's when I realized that Weekday Wide Black Man's job was to make dorky ass white guys feel like they were "down," and that they should come spend their money there every weekday. Just not on the weekends.