Why Do We Go To the Joiners?

by Petit Fours

It’s 2am, the generic east-end club night you’re at is closing, suddenly you know – almost instinctively – you are going to the Joiners, even though the functioning part of your vodka fuzzled brain rebels.

It’s an illogical move.

Why,  I reason with myself, am I about go to a club filled with sweaty gay men, their straight best girlfriends and a fine mist of beer, perspiration and semen?  Statistically speaking,  I know I am more likely to get hit on by a straight man than a lesbian*, and more likely to lose my coat.** I am less likely to come out at 4.15am thinking “wow, I’m glad I went there” than “why the fuck am I here again and why is my hair sticky?”.

But I go to the Joiners of course, quite often. With no more success than on any previous occasion.

Reasons not to go to the Joiners:

Last time someone spilt a pint over my t-shirt

You get jostled by boys making out with each other

You get jostled by people on ketamine

You are unable to stand still without being jostled

Knowledge that “lesbian corner” in Joiners is a figment of my imagination and not a real phenomenon

I know that this last-ditch attempt to pull a hot girl will result in a) failure, b) getting even drunker, c) existential crisis at the bus stop, d) getting home, alone, at 5am.

Sometimes you have to queue

Reasons I do go to the Joiners:

It’s free

It’s open late. No-one’s quite sure how late, that’s how late it is

Some of the gay boys are really beautiful. I can still appreciate their pretty good looks in a non-sexual way

I still hold out hope for lesbian corner (it’s by the cloakroom, in my head), and occasionally there are other lesbians

I’m dez/ Hope Springs Eternal in the Human Breast

*true statistics

** I have lost so much stuff in gay clubs

[picture credits: speedygonzalez, Ewan-M and billa]