A review on Passage, the worst club in Cincinnati: This, too, shall pass.

I used to think that Metropolis (aka Metrop-a-hoe; a titled earned with good reason) was a terrible, trashy club where underage girls barely wore clothes and bought drinks with fake IDs. The dance floor is more crowded than an over populated fish tank and you can never protect your goodies from being touched.

As terrible as the above may sound, I have never experienced anything more awful than Passage Lounge. This club, unlike most, is a lot classier. The ladies wear expensive slinky dresses waiting for even richer men to buy them drinks or a VIP table. Most clients are too snobby to dance, so they mostly stand around the bar scowling at the select few who are dancing and everyone else passing bye.

The ladies stare you up an down, whisper to their friends, or just make fun of your outfit in front of you. The dudes push and shove their way through, and no one; I repeat, no one has ever learned the words, "excuse me."

I was repulsed by this crowd. Unless you think you are capable or clawing your way to the top of this invisible chain of prestige, you were bait.

As an example, I will explain to you just one of the events that took place last night at Passage.
E, S, and I were dancing and some guy stopped in front of me. He was a regular, maybe even a in-house DJ (we think he's really a groupie). I kept dancing until he said "Move" really loud, gesturing to me with two quick hand swipes to the air. Of course, I didn't move. Who would submit to that? A second later he shoved his way past me. After going outside, he came back choosing to take the same route past me. Again, he yelled move at me and I didn't. This time when he shoved past me he said, "You don't have a drink in your hand so MOVE."

I wasn't aware that one had to have a drink in their hand at ALL times to be receive the privilege of plowing past people. I thought having bought varies drink was good enough.

Anyways, I believed this to be a grave injustice. I debating hitting the drink out of his hands and saying "You don't have a drink." I thought about causing a dramatic scene with lots of tears to ensure he would be kicked out of the club. But my most animalistic instincts told me to trip him, hard. And I did. I even dug my pointy toed shoe into his scrawny little ankle. I knew immediately this was a terrible decision. He turned around so fast and said to S that he would have a kicked out...as if she had anything to do with the situation. It didn't end there. The entire night; in the bathrooms, at the bar, on the dance floor, bitches were blatantly making fun of my outfit, giving me terrible looks, and pointing. What. the.fuck. I was definitely not the trashiest or sluttiest girl there, nor did I do anything to draw attention to myself.


I hereby announce Passage Lounge to be the meaning spot in town.

Furthermore, I have come to appreciate my job. Although my clients are whiny Jews, atleast they're nice and patient.