Give Me The OLD Century

I thought I'd try New Century again. It'd been a while and I hoped for improvement, but it was just the same. Early on a Thursday evening, I thought it might be more lively than the last time I'd visited. But it was pretty grim. The room seems cavernous when it's empty, and it was certainly that. I half expected to see a lonely janitor mopping to a mournful saxophone. Or a tumbleweed or two blowing past. I saw no other human in the place. Then, two dancers, a dirty blonde and a mousey brunette, came out from whatever hiding place they were in and lazily made their way toward me. Not unattractive, but not model or even dancer types, they seemed pleased that someone was there, but there was no showmanship or flirtation. Just "Hey, wanna dance?". I don't expect dancers to fall in love or even care what I say, but I think part of the successful job description is to feign interest in a customer. None of that here. Nothing even as detached as salesmanship. Obviously, I'm not here to give director notes, but this just wasn't interesting to me. I smiled and declined their offers. One suggested the back room, but I could tell that illusion and playfulness wouldn't be on her menu. So, off they went. Poof!

You know that sinking feeling when you know the club you're in is a dead ball? When you sit there waiting alone, watching the doors for dancer entrances, nursing your drink with your carnal optimism debating your common sense? I was there for another half hour and I got up and left. You feel like a sucker walking out past the receptionist who took your entrance fee after only a few minutes.

I remember a few great times at NC, but not in years. Is the night shift better?