I have a better question: why am I only now seeing this amazing thread?
Ok, there are many reasons why this would probably never (fingers crossed) happen to me:
1. I don't go to clubs, especially no "high-end" ones.
2. I don't really "go out" at night. Not recently, and not in this way, anyway.
3. I consider fat girls and betas bad luck, so I stand very far away from them by default. I've seen people take visible offense when they come park in my vicinity and I immediately move over several large steps. If there are too many fat girls in one place, this would have been the skinniest of them all, which would have made it okay to go home and take a naked shower with her.
4. I have cat-like reflexes that I developed as a kid, when my mom would throw shoes--and miscellaneous household objects--at me because I wouldn't clean up my messes. I was always like the last kid to get knocked out of dodgeball. I have mad peripheral vision and I'm squirrely inside of clubs, on the rare occasions that I go.
That said, if this did happen to me, I'd ask the management for their "help"--basically a plastic bag and a free club t-shirt--which would entail taking me back into the office or behind-the-scenes. I'd put the good shirt in the bag, wipe down with some paper towels or bar napkins, and put on the club t-shirt. I'd turn on my negotiation game, tell them it's a shame my night was ruined, and ask if they'd consider comping me for a future visit. While I'm taking care of business, I'd get to have a few laughs at fat bitches' expense, with the management in the back office. I'd bring up the case about the fatty who was trying sue because they told her she wasn't attractive enough to dance on the bar top. "I bet that kind of shit happens here all the time." I'd get everyone's name, shake hands, and get buddy-buddy with them in hopes that I could turn this lemon into locked-down-club lemonade. I'd be like, "guys I really appreciate your help with this disgusting episode."
I'd bid my farewells, thank the management again, and go home. Once there, I'd throw my favorite shirt in the appropriate laundering environment and post a thread on the forum about my harrowing experience.
I'd go back to the club within a week, use my comp, and try to see the same management guys as last time. I'd tip the bouncer.
EDIT: If, in the unlikely event, that when I came out of the back office with my free t-shirt, people who had observed the developments received me as a hero, I'd roll with that and try to pull a chick.
Ok, there are many reasons why this would probably never (fingers crossed) happen to me:
1. I don't go to clubs, especially no "high-end" ones.
2. I don't really "go out" at night. Not recently, and not in this way, anyway.
3. I consider fat girls and betas bad luck, so I stand very far away from them by default. I've seen people take visible offense when they come park in my vicinity and I immediately move over several large steps. If there are too many fat girls in one place, this would have been the skinniest of them all, which would have made it okay to go home and take a naked shower with her.
4. I have cat-like reflexes that I developed as a kid, when my mom would throw shoes--and miscellaneous household objects--at me because I wouldn't clean up my messes. I was always like the last kid to get knocked out of dodgeball. I have mad peripheral vision and I'm squirrely inside of clubs, on the rare occasions that I go.
That said, if this did happen to me, I'd ask the management for their "help"--basically a plastic bag and a free club t-shirt--which would entail taking me back into the office or behind-the-scenes. I'd put the good shirt in the bag, wipe down with some paper towels or bar napkins, and put on the club t-shirt. I'd turn on my negotiation game, tell them it's a shame my night was ruined, and ask if they'd consider comping me for a future visit. While I'm taking care of business, I'd get to have a few laughs at fat bitches' expense, with the management in the back office. I'd bring up the case about the fatty who was trying sue because they told her she wasn't attractive enough to dance on the bar top. "I bet that kind of shit happens here all the time." I'd get everyone's name, shake hands, and get buddy-buddy with them in hopes that I could turn this lemon into locked-down-club lemonade. I'd be like, "guys I really appreciate your help with this disgusting episode."
I'd bid my farewells, thank the management again, and go home. Once there, I'd throw my favorite shirt in the appropriate laundering environment and post a thread on the forum about my harrowing experience.
I'd go back to the club within a week, use my comp, and try to see the same management guys as last time. I'd tip the bouncer.
EDIT: If, in the unlikely event, that when I came out of the back office with my free t-shirt, people who had observed the developments received me as a hero, I'd roll with that and try to pull a chick.