I Know Jack Shit
This is not the first time I’ve told you that, occasionally, I know jack shit.
What helps is that this apparently continues to surprise people. Take yesterday.
I’d been gearing up for another F*ck Monday, picked what to wear, got myself looking suitably inappropriate and was basically ready to walk out the door when I discovered that the place has a rather strict door policy. Which kept me out.
Excuse me?
When I started asking around, everybody seemed to know about this. Of course they did.
People sometimes forget that I only moved back to this place last year. That’s years of missed memos, unwritten rules, established customs and things everybody discovered while I was elsewhere.
And nobody tells me these things.
It probably doesn’t help that when you look as gorgeous as I do, people naturally assume you’re dumb as a rock and that explaining anything to you is useless anyway. It’s a burden.
So there we were.
And speaking of things everybody apparently knew about except me: Berlin Klein. Somehow this place had completely escaped my radar. Which becomes even more ridiculous when you consider that some of the people who run it, I actually know.
Nobody mentioned it. Not once.
Again, apparently you have to be in the know, and all available evidence suggested that I very much wasn’t. Obviously this situation could not continue.
So I went.
After all, does a place really exist until I’ve seen it with my own eyes?
Exactly.
I brought my camera for evidence and was rather pleased to discover it handled the low light beautifully. Invad3r behind the decks immediately made the place feel familiar, like I’d somehow been there before despite having discovered its existence approximately two days earlier.
And I liked it. A lot, actually.
It has that slightly hidden-away feeling that makes you wonder whether you’ve discovered something, even though apparently everyone else discovered it ages ago and simply neglected to inform you. I can’t rule out Berlin Klein becoming one of those places that, six months from now, I’ll talk about as though I’ve been going there forever. History is remarkably easy to rewrite.
Oh, and that door policy at F*ck Monday? A very trustworthy source informed me that what happens behind that door is absolutely worth getting inside for. So naturally, I’ve asked the team to fix this unfortunate administrative oversight.
Just so you know.
No need to worry about me.
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This post is not sponsored or paid for in any way. I was also not blackmailed or tortured to write it.
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