• Daniela Mora

Barely Legal

Updated: Sep 11, 2018

It’s late May and a quiet Tuesday night, but not for us. My older sister just turned 20, almost 21, the legal drinking age, so in celebration we are going to a strictly 21+ club, perfect for the occasion. Tonight we are attending 1 Oak, one of the most exclusive and elite nightclubs in New York City.

Located on 17th street in the mists of Manhattan, this specific club has one of the most selective door policies, thus welcoming a high celebrity clientele. Before racing to the main event, we cheers to another birthday passing with a glass of wine.

Entering the club, we are seated at our table, the table is covered in stacks of glasses, shot glasses, a cooler of ice filled with vodka, champagne and, of course, chasers of orange and cranberry juice. The colorful array of fluorescent lights bounced off the bold black and white chevron floor, creating the perfect psychedelic atmosphere for an unforgettable night.

The DJ is playing the trendiest tracks with the bass booming at its loudest interval; the club is on fire. We begin pouring drinks, and once you start it’s hard to stop. The bottle service cover charge of a cheap twenty dollars comes with a small price of possible alcohol poisoning. I’m convinced that the liquor served contains at least 100 proof, as it actually tastes like nail polish remover. However, in the spirit of clubbing and especially a birthday celebration I decide to take full advantage of my surroundings as I throw back three shots of such an unpalatable beverage.

It’s almost 1 in the, morning and I’m reaching my peak, dancing and drinking with the sound of beat vibrating in my chest.

And at that exact moment, I came to two realizations, one, I am very drunk and two, Justin Bieber is in front of me. The male, nationwide popstar just entered the club, and a mob of females, including myself, dash to get as close to him as possible as he enters the VIP section, VIP simply meaning he is behind a red rope and I am not.

The security guards are at their prime, physically swatting away cell phones taking flash photography, as it is prohibited- thus making my mission to document his presence even more enticing.

Several drinks and shots later, I still am in awe that we are in the same vicinity of such a huge celebrity. Border line to blacking out or not, I was going to try to get as close to him as possible, whether that meant getting kicked out or not.

With several drunk attempts of trying to distract the security guards and sneaking into VIP, we finally give up and began to stray away from the most iconic celebrity of the twenty first century. Not only was the anticipation of seeing him perform killing us, but the alcohol was as well. I was too drunk to be standing, and I could feel my ankles crumbling, trying to support my heavy, dead weight body.

Walking through the crowd of drunk girls singing “Despacito”, my sister and I bump into two oddly normal looking pair of white guys who enter under the rope with no problem. That put us over the edge; everybody could get in but us! We run out in fury, griping about our failed attempts in the Uber home.

The next morning, we recap our night by looking through our abundance of blurry photos and checking the tagged location of 1Oak. As we stalked and refreshed the page for more documentation of the night, we soon find out the Chainsmokers were also there last night.

And at that exact moment I came to two realizations; one, I left my bag with my debit card in the Uber; and two, the two guys we ran into were not two normal white guys, they were the Chainsmokers.

I guess the moral of this story would be one, always go to 1Oak; and two, don’t be too intoxicated when celebrity guests arrive.

Based on a true story.

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