It was a friend’s last night in Korea so we headed off to Seoul on the long 4 hour train and arrived looking for some adventure.
Well, we went to the Ritz and got to experience something different. MODELS. Yes, the club that cost 30,000 to get into stayed true to it’s pricy form. It was packed with great looking Koreans and international models.
First we spotted a girl dancing wildly near a mirror and frowned upon her wayward ways. She did not have a drink in hand, but she was certainly getting a buzz from somewhere. Then, the real fun began, we made some friends, got shots poured into our mouth on the dance floor and were basically having a great time rocking out. Here is the thing, I enjoy a good time at club getting my groove on and I surround myself with people who also know how to balance having a good time while also staying in control. This night I was (for some reason) surprised to learn that not everyone can strike this balance and this is the story of one of the girls…
She was found by a Brazillian model and I guess found is not quite the right word for it, because all the Brazillian model saw was a hand on the floor peaking out from one of the bathroom stalls. I was standing in line for the bathroom behind the Brazillian model and she pointed out the hand to me and Security was in the girls bathroom immediately. They tried knocking on the door with no avail. Then the two guards pried the door open to reveal a passed out model in an ocean of her own puke that had saturated her dress and was drying crisply on her long curly hair. They tried to wake her and were looking around at the now large posse of models who were starring down at her to figure out which groups of friends she belonged to. However, sadly, no one would claim her. They all mumbled- not from my agency, or I’ve never seen her, she must be new and the most heartwrenching one- maybe she is 15. WHAT? The story continues…she had passed out while on the toilet and the men looked around for some girl to pull up her underwear. Again, none of the models offered to help and my friend was left to do the necessary yet unpleasant duty to making this passed out girl decent…while trying to hoover above the puked on floor that she was still sprawled out in. (I was in the bathroom while this took place) The next thing was even more disturbing…the security guards, still hesitant to touch her asked someone to check her pulse!!! WHAT THE F! This poor girl, with clearly no good friends, was on something that made her pass out mid-toilet break and now I was responsible for seeing if she was still alive???? Well, ok. So I checked her pulse by first lifting the heavy veil that was created from the puke and hair combo and feeling on her neck. There was indeed a pulse and so I gave the security guards the all OK! sign. Now with her not exposing genitalia and confirmed alive status the security guards felt it ok to pick her up and carry her out, as they did I questioned them with “hospital?” because it looked like she may need a little medical intervention. They did not reply and just carried her out. The restroom was abuzz for a few minutes after she left, but quickly my conversation with the models turned to whether or not I was a model (oh ladies, please! Do you see me passing out in toilets?) and then when that idea was shot down they asked me if I was an extra for the Olympics? (what the fuck were they smoking…I mean…thanks?) I wish the story ended there and I could assume happily that the girl got the help that she needed. Unfortunately this is not so, as I was leaving the club at 5 am I saw a lump on a couch near the entrance to the club near the coat rack…it was the same girl, still passed out, as if the club owners just expected whoever was responsible for her to grab her as they got their checked purses from the club lockers. Um, hello! When was the last time they checked her pulse? Oh Yeah, that would be me 3 hours ago….
Now this event did not deter me from partying like I usually do, because the way that I usually party ends with me heading out with all my clothes on and my wits intact, even if it happens that I leave the club at 6am. Clearly this is a sign of my oblivion but I thought that everyone partied with the same mindset as me, and just went home early. The models on the other hand continued to get wilder, in one instance a model was allowing one male model to play up her skirt while making out with another dude. In plain sight of everyone. Sickening. This was the first time that I had partied with the beautiful people and most likely the last because their party lifestyle is grounds for a party divorce. Though some were really sweet when I was chatting with them I noticed 3 things about this particular subset of human beings: They are taller than me and have legs that come to my belly button, they all have really really long hair that is free of chemical dye, they are heartless attention whores. The end.
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