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Lessons in Clubbing

February 29, 2008

by Lydia Hall

Who doesn’t love a night of clubbing? For months, my friends and I, particularly those with whom I spent a semester abroad in Spain, had been badly needing to relive those nights of club-hopping, shaking it to Bob Sinclair, and crawling home in the early hours of the morning, full of one-euro wine and Barcelona’s popular late-night waffles. After quite a bit of postponing, a group of us finally decided that we would brave the over-21 club scene in Boston for a Saturday adventure — and we learned some valuable lessons along the way.

Lesson #1: Leave Campus Early

During the planning stages of our club night, we had all agreed that leaving early was in our best interest. However, when Saturday night rolled around, we found that that was easier said than done. Our planned pre-game session (note that this is a wise idea, as the drink prices at clubs tend to be on the steep side) started late, and once it had begun, we found it difficult to tear ourselves away from the rather ingenious “Spain mix” that one of my roommates had made. Before we knew it, it was 10:55, and it became clear that we would not be riding on the 11:00 Joey. Instead, we caught the 11:15 shuttle, and began to make our way into Boston.
Once we arrived at Caprice (275 Tremont St., Boston), which we had chosen based on favorable Citysearch.com reviews and the fact that it has no cover charge, we were dismayed to see a long and barely-moving line. We were all willing to wait, despite the cold, in hopes that we would eventually get in to the inviting-looking club. Alas, we were wrong. Just as we were nearing the front of the line, the bouncer announced that due to the untimely arrival of the fire marshal, they would not be admitting anyone else to Caprice that night. Dejected, we left. We faced a difficult decision: did we seek out another club, or did we board the Girls Gone Wild bus, which was parked at the time in front of nearby club Aria and complete with a line of approximately 300 people who were waiting in line, eager to see the bus’s residents? Eventually, we decided that it would be much more rewarding to head toward Felt (533 Washington St., Boston), located in the Ladder District. Since it was late when we arrived at about 12:15, we found that there was no line, as well as no cover — an added bonus.

Lesson #2: Dress Codes Exist

I live near the top of a hill, and in the winter, walking on my icy street can be a decidedly hair-raising experience. Recalling this, and having previously had a very slippery time while wearing his dress shoes on my street, one of my male friends decided that he would wear his intrepid hiking boots for our Saturday night out. However, at the door of Felt, we discovered that the dress code forbade that sort of footwear. What were we to do? Being, after all, clever Tufts students, our friends devised a sneaky plan. Our partner in crime left the club with a pair of dress shoes, donated from another friend already inside, under her arm, covered in a hoodie. Once outside, she ever-so-casually asked if my male companion and I “would like to take a walk around the corner.” Once we were out of the bouncer’s sight, the shoes were switched and my male friend was allowed to enter the club. Despite the fact that our partner in crime had a less-than-discrete shoe-sized package held under her arm, no one at the door seemed to realize that anything suspicious was going on. Our night could finally begin.

Lesson #3: Do Not Expect Speedy Bar Service

Once we were finally inside the plush red interior our first stop was the bar, which was surrounded by spiky light fixtures. The crowd waiting for drinks was somewhat intimidating, and we all were grateful for our earlier pregame session. It was quite a fight to get to the front of the line, and once we were there, it took almost as long to place our orders. However, the gin and tonic that I finally received was delicious, and at $8, not too unreasonably priced.
One of my more enterprising companions had managed to sneak in a small bottle of red wine, which came in handy later as our bills got more expensive. Another friend discovered that Felt actually had another bar upstairs, and that the crowd there was much smaller — so if you find yourself there on a Saturday, head upstairs to buy your drinks.

Lesson #4: Music is Very Hit or Miss

Now that the shoe drama had been cleared up and we had our hard-earned drinks in hand, we were finally free to hit the dance floor and let loose a little. The DJ seemed to specialize in mash-ups, and we heard quite a few innovative combinations, our favorite being one that mixed Journey’s Don’t Stop Believing with Michael Jackson’s Billie Jean. However, the best musical moment of the night came when, as requested, the DJ played Bob Sinclair’s World Hold On. I joined my fellow Spain girls on top of the banquette for that one, although the plush cushions made dancing slightly difficult.
As the night continued, several of my single friends discovered, with considerable excitement, that there was a bachelor party in the club. Two of the guests began flirting with my friends, and another guest urged one of my friends to meet his “awesome” roommate, who turned out to be more of a dull wallflower. An invitation was even extended for a ride on their “party bus”— an offer that, later that night, some of the girls regretted turning down (see Lesson #5).

As 2 a.m. drew near and the crowd kept dancing, the DJ, without warning, developed what could only be described as a case of temporary ADHD. He would begin to play a song, and then about 20 seconds into it, he would switch to something else, which began to get frustrating. At one point, one of my male companions was excited to hear a bhangra song, and began to skillfully dance. Just as he was beginning to attract a small audience, the song changed, much to everyone’s dismay. This pattern continued until the end of the night.

Lesson #5: Try to Beat the Taxi Crowd

This is truly the most valuable piece of wisdom that I can impart — leave the club early. As essentially every nightspot in Boston shuts down at the comparatively early hour of 2 a.m., this means that finding a cab entails fighting it out with every other reveler in the area. If it has, in fact, been one of your dearest ambitions in life to walk the Freedom Trail at 2:30 a.m. in 25-degree weather while wearing inappropriate footwear, then you would have been in luck on Saturday night, as we trudged along for nearly an hour with no empty cabs in sight. Finally, we were forced to take refuge in a Seven-Eleven on Washington St., for which I had never in my life been so grateful. It took several unsuccessful attempts to call for a cab before we finally found a driver who was willing to pick us up and take us home. If you find yourself in downtown Boston on a Saturday night, I would recommend calling a cab and pre-arranging for a pickup around 1:45, before the bars and clubs close.


As we sat in the cab on the way back to Tufts and reflected on our night, the general consensus was that things had not turned out entirely as they had been planned. However, we did learn a few valuable lessons — and no one could deny that it had certainly been an adventure.