Party Expert - 6 Lounge

My friend Brian has partying down to an artform. Any time I’ve clubbed with him I’ve never waited in line, paid a tab or awakened in my own bed. So, when he invited me to clown at 6 Lounge, I rounded up the troops for a downtown club night to rival Mardi Gras.

Appropriately, six of us approach 247 S. Meridian St. on a Friday night. Brian addresses the bouncer by name and, after some polite “catching up,” we are given white wrist bands, whisked through the lush bar and taken straight to Milk Bar, 6’s VIP area. It’s good to have friends in high places.

Brian introduces me to Jamie and Lindsey, the managers of Milk Bar, and I compliment their space before they excuse themselves to attend to some “business” at the door. My crew begins throwing back Jagerbombs and I make a lap around the club. The Milk Bar, in one word, is celestial: angelic people engulfed by white leather couches, a white bar and a balcony to gaze down on the clubbers who can’t score VIP bracelets — the non-anointed ones.

I scope out the club below from my pedestal. 6 is raging. The DJ is spinning the hottest songs, two guys high-five as they sandwich some brunette in a battle of the hips and the multicolored lights behind the bar convince patrons that another shot is not just a necessity, but destiny. I’m standing in Heaven looking down upon Babylon.

I need a drink.

I return to my friends, who hand me a beer and a camera to take a picture of them with Jared, the Subway Guy. The flash pops and a girl screams my name. “Let’s dance,” she says and pulls me down to the hedonists. I have no idea how this girl knows me but I secretly thank her for the kidnapping. After causing a minor scene on the dance floor I head back to Milk Bar and sit down with Brian, who slaps me on the shoulder and says, “I told you you’d love it here.” The guy’s a genius.

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