Tag Archives: stealing

Nightclub Shoes

30 Jul

I really hate it when bars and clubs refuse entry based on the type of footwear somebody chooses to wear. What difference does it make if you’re wearing trainers or shoes? I often snub such places that have this rule in place, but it was at a club in Brighton that I had to give into this self-imposed ban, because the rest of the group wanted to go to a certain bar.
We queued up for ages before we eventually got to the entrance. I made pleasantries with the bouncers and walked through, along with my mates, into the busy club. First stop, as always, was the bar. We waited to be served, looking out for any quality ‘fanny’ that we could try and chat up later on in the evening. Mark felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

 

“Meatball’s just sent me a text. He’s outside, he’s worn trainers and the bouncers won’t let him in. What a daft cunt.”

 

The rest of the group muttered a collective ‘for fuck sake’ and decided on a course of action. The plan we came up with was simple: We’d ask someone in the club for their shoes, get Meatball to put them on, get Meatball in the club, and then he could return the shoes to their owner, before slipping his trainers back on. It couldn’t fail, we were sure of it.

 

Jimmy spotted one bloke standing on his own at the other end of the bar. He was wearing a black leather jacket, and had thick greasy hair. Most importantly, he was wearing shoes, and looked about Meatball’s size. Jimmy and Mark wandered over to him.

 

“Excuse me mate, this may sound a bit weird, but can we borrow your shoes? Our mate needs them to get in. We’ll buy you a few drinks and you’ll get them straight back”

 

The greasy chap agreed almost straight away; no persuasion was required at all. He slipped off his shoes and handed them to Jimmy. They were ghastly, like the chunky black shoes shoes that I was forced to wear to school. Jimmy slipped them inside his jacket and we all went back to the entrance of the club. Meatball was still there, pleading with the bouncers to let him in but they were having none of it. Jimmy got his hand stamped so he could get back in, whilst the rest of us stood just outside the entrance in the smoking area.

 

Jimmy led Meatball away and round the corner.

 

“Here, have these”, he said, handing Meatball the shoes.

 

“Fucking brilliant! Cheers Jim!” Meatball quickly slipped the shoes on, they were a perfect fit. Not as fashion conscious as the rest of us, Meatball really didn’t care that they looked like retard shoes. He handed Jimmy his trainers, and once again, Jimmy concealed these inside his jacket and they returned to the front of the queue.With a massive grin on his face, meatball strode up to the bouncers.

 

“My mate just dropped my shoes off, so can I come in now?”

 

“Piss off, mate. You’re not coming in, you were lippy before”.

 

Meatball’s grin quickly disappeared and we all wondered what we were going to do. It didn’t take long for us to decide -we all left the club immediately, we couldn’t leave a mate outside on his own. It wasn’t until we got to the next bar that we’d realised what we’d done. Meatball still had the shoes on; the shoes that we’d borrowed off of some poor bloke in the club. He was still in there, just in his socks, probably looking like a complete weirdo. I like to think that he remained in the same spot for the rest of the night, with his socks getting stuck to the spilt alcohol on the club floor. We did feel bad, for a second or so. The shoes were dropped in a bin, before we carried on with our evening.

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