Club situations alter social norms

After spending my first two collegiate spring breaks waking up in the late afternoon and… After spending my first two collegiate spring breaks waking up in the late afternoon and spending the rest of my day in front of the television, I finally convinced my parents to let me go on the stereotypical debauchery fest of my dreams. I went with seven other friends on a cruise to the Bahamas, and, somehow, we all made it back alive.

With bars, nightclubs, restaurants and a casino to fuel all of our hedonistic needs, it was a week full of stories both suitable and unsuitable to be written in this column. The trip was a huge success, and if I recover in time for next March, I wouldn’t mind doing it again.

One aspect of the cruise, however, confused me to no end. During a very long session of dancing and Bible study, I noticed out of the corner of my eye an intriguing-looking, college-aged woman. Temporarily forgetting my non-existent self-esteem, I began making my way over to her, trying to remember my name or major or any other asinine information that might come up.

That’s when I looked up and, shaking the fog out of my head, realized that I was in the line for orange juice at the breakfast buffet. Suddenly, out of the comfort of the nightclub atmosphere, I lost all confidence and returned to my meal of water and ibuprofen.

Ever since then, I have been questioning the concept of the nightclub. Why is it so much easier to approach people in a dark, painfully loud club than a well-lit, Muzak-filled restaurant? Why don’t people feel free to express themselves without the help of drink specials and hip-hop?

Maybe it’s the anonymity.

Maybe it’s the alcohol.

Whatever it is, it works.

Instead of dissecting the insecurities of American 18- to 25-year-olds, I propose we make a significant change to our social structure. I mean, it worked for the Jetsons, so why not us? My idea is to change every aspect of daily life into that of a nightclub.

My idea may seem radical, but hear me out. Where else can you meet dozens of new friends and forget them all in the same night? Why not bring effortless social situations onto our streets and into our homes?

The nightclub dynamic is perfect. You can walk up to somebody, introduce yourself and immediately know the chances of developing a lasting, meaningful relationship. Bribery is not only accepted, it’s downright expected as a means of initiation, consolation, appreciation or apology. And, if someone causes a problem, there is a very good chance that nobody will either remember or care the next morning.

The loud music makes intelligent conversations next to impossible. It’s all sports scores, useless pick-up lines and nothing else. At one point, a buddy and I accidentally fell into the infamous “this is fun and we should hang more often when we get back” moment. Luckily for us, two of our friends were there to punch us in the face and rip out patches of our chest hair.

I haven’t made eye contact with him since.

The biggest difference between reality and club-ality is the dancing. If a man walks up behind a woman on a dance floor and begins to gyrate his midsection like a rabid animal, it’s considered an acceptable companionship starter. I’m not sure what it’s called if you do the same thing in the middle of the supermarket, but I’m pretty sure the authorities frown upon it. It’s also a great way to avoid responsibility. My trip saw multiple fights, acts of destruction, flagrant comments and projectile vomiting.

But who takes the blame? Not me. Not any of my friends. It was the club. If the club makes you do it, nobody can be mad at you in the morning. Not even boat security.

Nightclubs force introverts to dance, misanthropes to tell jokes and the most rational thinkers to make hilariously terrible decisions. It may be shallow, but so are kiddie-pools, and everybody remembers how much fun those used to be.

And how funny would it be if everybody acted like they do at the club when they think nobody else is looking? How much more interesting would the ride on the bus be if all the passengers were spilling drinks on their shirts while un-rhythmically bobbing their heads and singing along under their breath to a song they would never admit to their friends that they know the words to?

Judge me all you want, but I refuse to fold. Call me unsophisticated and I’ll just turn up the music. Truth is, I’d still rather be partying on a private island or watching people fall over barstools than studying for finals.

Obviously, life would be miserable without meaningful human interaction. Drunken stories and 30-second conversations are not everything in the world, and everybody must eventually sober up and take on responsibilities and the consequences for their actions.

But in the meantime, it’s fun to pretend that nothing really matters. At least just for a week.

Come here often? E-mail Sam at Seg23@pitt.edu.