Around 10, the club bouncers started letting people upstairs to file into the room where Ludacris would be performing. Not being drunk or scantily dressed, I walked up and secured a nice spot in the middle about 6 feet from the stage. I swear I saw a "maximum capacity" sign in the room, but someone must have been ignoring it because people kept pouring in at exponential rates. Now, at other shows I've been to, people will crowd in front of you in search of their "friends," but they will still respect a relatively comfortable distance once the artist appears on stage. This was not the case here, as my bubble of personal space had never been so violated as masses of Ludacris' die-hard fans shoved me to get closer to the stage.
Barely able to breathe, let alone see what was going on farther than 5 inches in front of me, I waited another half-hour until Ludacris finally came on. At least I assume it was him. I couldn't actually see anything. On all sides I was bombarded with girls going crazy and dancing into me. How they found room to dance is still a mystery to me, but after about three songs I was more than ready to leave.
With everyone so crammed into the room and the "You's a Hoe" song playing, it was really difficult finding my way out, but I ended up settling into a routine of pushing someone to let me squeeze by and then yelling an apology. After about a minute, I realized the futility of apologizing to drunken people who couldn't hear me in the first place and just dove into the remaining 30 feet separating a dreadful experience and my freedom.
Barely able to breathe, let alone see what was going on farther than 5 inches in front of me, I waited another half-hour until Ludacris finally came on. At least I assume it was him. I couldn't actually see anything. On all sides I was bombarded with girls going crazy and dancing into me. How they found room to dance is still a mystery to me, but after about three songs I was more than ready to leave.
With everyone so crammed into the room and the "You's a Hoe" song playing, it was really difficult finding my way out, but I ended up settling into a routine of pushing someone to let me squeeze by and then yelling an apology. After about a minute, I realized the futility of apologizing to drunken people who couldn't hear me in the first place and just dove into the remaining 30 feet separating a dreadful experience and my freedom.
