Two jager bombs in one cup was the only way I got through a night spent at Solas. I was dragged to this dump last week for a friend’s birthday. Of course, I only went to Gelwood South on the condition that we ate dinner at Sullivan’s. Around 10:00pm, after paying for my triple digit dinner, a group decision was made to go to Solas. I protested, but was overruled by my whipped friend because it was his girlfriend’s birthday. A compromise was made and we agreed to only stay for two hours. I can’t stand going to places where I don’t know at least 95% of the people, so obviously Solas was going to be the worst bar ever. My countdown until when we could leave for Felson’s began. Two hours until normalcy.

I must admit that, as we approached Solas, the valet stand outside made a good first impression. However, the pin-striped-suit-ear piece-wearing bouncer quickly ruined that by asking me to pay the $10 cover to enter. Paying $10 doesn’t bother me. My problem with covers is that they essentially mean “anyone with “x” amount of dollars can enter.” In order to deny commoners entry, covers should always be at least $100. Everyone knows a gel-head will gladly cut back on a few bottles of “product,” in order to pay a $10 cover, as long as he gets a chance to flamboyantly parade around in a graphic t-shirt and designer jeans, while leaving behind the stench of shitty cologne from Express for Men. A $100 cover, however, is out of the question for a gel head. Not only was I asked to pay a cover, but my hand was stamped with a red “Solas” logo as well. I assured them that I didn’t need a stamp because once I left, I was never going to return. They did it anyway. I went to the restroom to wash the disgusting endorsement-stamp off of my hand and also to check and see how concealed the bathroom stalls were. If this really was a “big-city” type club like everyone says, they should have full length stall doors and drug dispensers in the bathrooms. Not only did they not have any drug dispensers, they actually have hair gel dispensers that are located between the hand dryers and a machine that dispenses Axe Body spray. I spent 10 minutes waiting in line for the hand dryer that was being blocked by 4 oversized gel heads who were re-gelling. Unbelievable. 1 hour 50 minutes until normalcy, and normal bathrooms.

Since I can’t handle being in a new environment without being blackout, I headed straight to the bar where I was amazed to find that for $9 you can buy what amounts to a double jager bomb, which was the only thing that made the night bearable. I was about 5 jager bombs deep when I approached an attractive female and asked the obvious “Are you ITB?” For some reason, she had no idea what I was talking about. “What is your zip code?” Still no response. I proceeded with, “You know, Broughton, Village Deli, Harris Teeter, The Club, wealth, elitism?” She replied, “Sorry, I’m from Atlanta.” I went on to tell her just how sorry she really was and that she was a nobody, which is probably what caused her to walk away in what some would call “disgust.” 1 hour 23 minutes until normalcy, and girls that give ITB establishments the respect they deserve.

After wasting time talking to that commoner, I took a few jager bombs by myself and began to take a lap through the black hole that was a result of the gel-heads’ dark clothing. For some reason, couches were set up inside semi-transparent curtains that hung from the ceiling to form what appeared to be small areas where people could sit and converse with each other. I’ve never understood why anyone would try to carry on a real conversation at a bar. I’m not going to remember any of it by the next day, why bother? These couches were clearly going to get in my way after a few more jager bombs and the inevitable loss of my motor skills. I leaned up against one of the unused couches and was approached by a metrosexual waiter who informed me that it costs $500 to even be near these couches. To spite this loser and the other patrons, I spent $8,000 reserving all of these couches. It was worth it to lean on my new couch and watch the commoners huddle near the dance floor and try to converse with each other over the blaring techno music. 1 hour 2 minutes until normalcy, and booths I can sit in without having to have real conversations with others.

I left my couch and headed to the dance floor, drink in hand, hoping to find someone who knew who I was. I was stopped by another bouncer and told that I couldn’t have drinks on the dance floor since it was made of glass and has been broken at least three times by people dropping their drinks. Disgusted at the lack of a real dance floor, I returned to the bar. 53 minutes until normalcy, and a dance floor that I can carelessly drop my beer bottles on with no regard for the safety of others.

Back at the bar I noticed a lot of older people that looked to be in their late 30s. It wasn’t the normal late 30s crowd that I respect because they went to Broughton, even though it is sort of odd that they still try to hook up with girls that are 20 years younger than them. I didn’t recognize any of these old people, so I continued on to the bar for more bombs. 48 minutes until normalcy, and older people who I can reminisce about Broughton with.

People have been raving about the “exclusive rooftop bar” so I decided I should obviously be seen up there. At about 15 jager bombs deep, I attempted to climb the three flights of stairs so that I could literally look down on the Gelwood South commoners from the rooftop bar. I only made it up the first set of stairs before collapsing. How was I supposed to make it up three flights of steps when I was more blackout than Terry Schiavo? After being conditioned to only walk up one flight of stairs to get to the 2nd floor bar at Felson’s, the thought of two more flights nearly put me in a coma. My ITB friend found me and helped me up to the third floor where we were stopped by another bouncer. Apparently, the third floor was “VIP” that night which meant we had to give the guy another $20. I stumbled right by him anyway, at which point he frantically contacted the other bouncers through their completely unnecessary ear-pieces and said, “Come get this kid who can’t even stand up, he’s yelling something about gel heads, commoners, and belts, he’s about to get his ass kicked.” They arrived instantly and began to brutally remove me from the bar as I demanded that they “get their damn common hands off me” before “I get my parents’ lawyers to sue you” adding “this shirt is worth more than your life, don’t get any gel on it!” The 27 minutes that I had until I could leave for Felson’s quickly went down to zero as I was literally thrown out onto Gelwood South. I got up and made one of the rickshaw drivers take me to Cameron Village. He almost passed out from exhaustion by the time we got there, but I’m sure it was worth the $5 tip I gave him. At least I was finally at Felson’s, where not being able to stand on your own two feet is not only accepted, but highly encouraged.

Note: After my miserable night at Solas, I’ve decided to put them out of business. You can help by going to the website, clicking on “Reservation” or this link and reserving a table for however many people you’d like. When it’s time to attend Solas for your dinner, you simply don’t show up. They ban you from using this service if you “no-show” more than 4 times in a 12 month period. But if enough of my ITB friends do this, we can book the restaurant for at least a few months, not show up, and cause them to go out of business. I’m not sure how many tables they have, so you should probably make a reservation for between 8 and 20 people in order to take up space. Please contribute to this cause.