Tuesday, 21 June 2011

Elitist Nightclub a Birdee No-No

I was going through some old documents on the computer, which I'd written years ago. For as long as I've had access to software like Word (and WordPerfect before it), I've always typed up my thoughts on certain issues, events or experiences and saved them as Word documents. I don't know exactly what I'd planned to do with them. Perhaps I thought I'd compile them for a book. But what a crazy, all-over-the-place book that would be. This blog seems more appropriate for such thoughts.

One document in particular described my frustration with a certain Brisbane nightclub. Having performed at the majority of clubs and pubs in Brisbane, and visited the ones who don't host live music, there's one venue I have never set foot in. A venue that so many people speak highly of. A venue that I've been invited to on several occasions to meet people or celebrate birthdays. A venue that always has a long queue outside. A venue whose security staff have never let me enter. A venue called "Birdee Num Num".

Friday, 18 August 2006: 
There’s an elitist club in the Valley called “Birdee Num Num” who, without fail, no matter what you’re wearing, no matter what night it is, never let males in who don’t look like Calvin Klein models with perfectly styled hair and flawless faces. 

Most girls, depending on how close they compare to Paris Hilton in looks, can go in wearing next to nothing, and a pair of thongs. 
Guys who look rich, popular and good looking by model standards (face, hair, muscles, etc.) can get in wearing very casual, laid back clothes. Guys without those looks are refused entry, even if they’re wearing exactly the same outfit. You could be dressed in your absolute best, with the most expensive jeans and the smartest of shirts and shoes, and they’ll still look you up and down and say you’re not abiding by the dress code, despite the fact that the person who they let in ahead of you is wearing exactly the same as what you’re wearing. 
The dress code is very vaguely described on their website, but points out that they can’t give too much detail of it due to “legal reasons” (i.e. they’ll let you in or turn you away based on their mood and who they think is pretty enough to get in – hate crimes like that should be illegal!).

If you are having a decent hair day, and you do happen to be wearing what the bouncers consider appropriate, depending on their mood at that particular moment, they will then ask you for a student ID or a passport. That’s when they decide on the spot that the club is only for students and backpackers, which is a load of rubbish because most of the people you meet who frequent the venue are neither.

So don’t even waste your time lining up in that long queue to give those prejudiced fascists at Birdee Num Num your business. Anyone who refuses to let you pay them money for drinks because they don’t think you’re physically attractive enough, doesn’t deserve any business at all.

And anyone who brags to you about how great Birdee Num Num is from the inside, are quite often the same people who speed down the road in their car, shouting obscenities and throwing cans out the window at you, with some bland, top 40 chart trash blasting out of the stereo. The same homophobes who attack you for being gay, even if you’re not. The same morons who poke sticks at dogs and beat up women. 

Basically the staff of Birdee Num Num and the majority of the people who they accept through those exclusive doors are close-minded jerks. It’s a shame such a snobby club’s name is based on a line from the classic Peter Sellers film, “The Party” (1968), which I’m certain nobody inside has ever seen, or has any intention to see, because they’re too cool and good looking to watch some old movie nobody’s heard of. 

Birdie Num Num scene from "The Party" (1968)
Birdie Num Num / Howdy Partner 
Intercom scene from "The Party" (1968)

No comments:

Post a Comment