Love Me or Hate Me? That Is the Question

If you love me - thank you; if you hate me, then fuck you.

I have a confession to make: One of my favorite things about my job is determining who gets to be on the guest list and who does not. I'm also a big reaction person. I love watching people's honest reactions. During the first Liquified event at WETbar, I loved watching everyone's jaw drop when they roamed from room to room exploring the venue.

At any rate, my penchant for honest reaction and the guest list always seems to thrill me each Saturday. My favorite thing in the world is to tell typical assholes that feel entitled to be on the list that they're not on it. The excuses are always the same, "I know __________ (fill in blank with 'the owner,' 'the manager, 'the DJ,' a bartender,' 'a performer')," "Don't you know who I am," "__________ isn't coming tonight; I'm here in their place."

Sorry hon, General Admission is that a way.

My counterpart from a Downtown club known for its afterhours came in with four guests last night. He looked sharp, but expected to stroll right on in with his posse. Now, for the record, I'm all about club courtesy, but there are better ways to handle it. Let's try calling first and notifying management that you're stopping by maybe? Asking for the manager when you arrive? No, you don't try to fucking take wristbands from the concierge and when denied storm out saying the club is a piece of shit. Mary, here are your afterhours fliers I had security round up. Please don't expect to ever bring them back in the club. Asshole.

I swear we're not divas. We're actually the furthest thing from that. Most of the staff is pretty laidback and mild-mannered. Just don't piss them off. Cause quite frankly, whether you love them or hate them (myself included), we really could give a good god damn.

Title and first line from Lady Sovereign's "Love Me or Hate Me."