The 10 Guys You'll Meet in a Club

It’s rare that I go out clubbing these days. I got all that out of my system when I was 18. But every now and then, I have an uncontrollable urge to go out and back my thang up. Invariably, these occasions only serve to remind me why I stopped going to clubs in the first place. Saturday night, I went out and it occurred to me, that every time I go out, I meet a variation of the guys below. You may even recognize some yourself.

The ‘I’m not going to hit on you’ guy

He opens the conversation with that disclaimer and then proceeds to hit on you, roughly every 30 seconds. He doesn’t realize that his weak line didn’t lure you into that false sense of security he was hoping for. The jedi mind trick didn’t work. You are onto him. And you will not be fooled. You are aware that he is totally hitting on you.

The ugly good looking guy

Somehow he didn’t get the memo that nature was not too kind to him. He has all the arrogance of a good looking guy and a face like a cobbler’s thumb. He’s quite the enigma. While you spend your time trying to figure out how this smurf even got the balls to talk to a diva like yourself, he hits on you so hard, it’s like a UFC championship.

The newly single guy

He seemed to have mistaken the club for his psychiatrists office. You have no idea why he singled you out to vent on, but he does it nonetheless. ‘I’ve been single a month and a half now’, he starts by saying. You may as well get comfy, because he’s not going to shut up for quite some time. Around the five minute mark, expect the picture of the kids to be pulled from his pocket. Try not to roll your eyes.

The dancer guy

He’s taking up the most room on the dance floor, only to showcase his movement repertoire of crip walking and the butterfly – which would be fine, if it was still 1997. The crowd that has formed around him is more in morbid disbelief, but he thinks he’s a member of the Rock Steady Crew in Beat Street.

The completely egocentric wanker guy

His ego knows no bounds. You are repulsed by him, but only stay in his presence because it’s like some sort of nature wildlife show. You study him to figure out exactly why he thinks he’s the shit. You put some of his sweat in a petri dish and send it off to the lab. The results come back and conclude, 100%, that he is part of an ever growing society of males known as ‘wankers’.

The grinder guy

His reasoning for doing this is far beyond comprehension, but this guy will grab your waist from behind (often times without taking the time to introduce himself) and start grinding himself against you. While he gets aroused, you get disgusted and spend 30 uncontrollable seconds trying to pry yourself from his vice-like grip. If all else fails, your wing girl steps in and sucker punches him.

The short guy

The fact that you are at least 7 inches taller than him doesn’t deter the short guy. He’s quite content to maintain a conversation with your breasts, apparently completely unaware that they don’t talk back.

The racially confused guy

This guy outright refuses to believe that he’s white. He wears baggy jeans, a new era cap and some sort of LRG sweatshirt. He’s most likely a budding rapper/producer/nightclub promoter that you’ve never heard of, but he thinks he’s the hottest thing in town. He’ll refer to you as ‘ma’ throughout your conversation. You spend your time being embarrassed for him.

The Rastafarian guy

Any club you go to, there’s always one rastafarian in the corner, usually by himself. He nurses a few drinks throughout the night and says ‘ay gyal’ to anything with breasts that walks by. He’s cool, calm and collected until the ‘ragga’ portion of the evening, when he lets loose and hits the dance floor. Beware of flying dreads.

The ‘shoulda left the club hours ago’ guy

This guy isn’t just drunk. He’s verging on being in a coma. He’ll try to talk to you but the combination of loud music and his slurring makes you question if he’s even speaking English. He’s sweaty, he spits, he sways – he’s all around gross. He should have called it a day after two drinks, but he stuck around to give everyone the pleasure of seeing exactly how drunk he can get. By the time the night’s over, he’ll have violated at least two girls, gotten in a fight and puked all over himself.

So with this wealth of beauties to choose from, is it any wonder I don’t hit up the clubs that much any more?