Sunk Cost Fallacy

Half past 10. Two secret service lookin schmucks outside shook my hand before informing me “no sweatpants after 7pm.” Fuck. I hate that this anti-sweatpants agenda is becoming more common at SCs. And I couldn’t just smooth talk my way inside like I do in ATL. (I mean, you’d think Rick’s, a club currently undergoing a tax fraud investigation, would need every single dollar it could get 🤔)

Anyway. After a half assed attempt at buying some shitty overpriced slacks at a closing H&M around the corner, I waved the white flag. I took the Q train back uptown & down. Hour round trip. $3 each way. (Uber would’ve been $20+ per ride). Walked by an obvious coke deal, endless plumes of weed smoke, and all those homeless people who dig for recyclables until dawn. Truly a low point in my PL career lmao. New York City, baby!

Suddenly, there I was… back on 33rd Street. Albeit in different clothes. Same door guys, though. One still didn’t want to let me in. The other overruled him. $20 cover. The next hand shaking suit I encountered warned me I might have to coat check my vest (free), but the door girl deemed that unnecessary.