"I'm constantly scared. It's not an exaggeration. I know that after COVID happened, it made us all afraid of getting sick and of an economic collapse. The vaccine provided a well-needed relief, but I honestly can shake off the feeling that something terrible might happen at any moment. And it is for a reason: the nonstop fury and vitriol exchange of a highly polarized world combined with the evident signs of environmental decline keeps me constantly on edge. Call it PTSD or whatever, but after those somber dystopian days of 2020 lockdown, I never could sleep the same."
That's when I noticed that I had completely lost my audience. The boom-boom music was pounding loud, the place was crazy packed, and I was obviously in the wrong mood- and place. I looked around, searching for a pair of eyes to connect to, but there was none. I sighed and looked at my empty glass, wondering if it was a good idea to fill it up again.
"_ Could you pass me the bottle of champagne, please?" The question slowly broke through the barrage of sounds and hit my left ear. I looked to the side and saw this kid pointing to the bottle on my right with his empty flute. For a moment, I found myself thinking he was probably too young to drink, then I chuckled, realizing, "who cares." So I passed the bottle without even looking at him while inside I cried: "Oh my God, I'm officially too old!", followed by "How did I get here?"
I jumped up, ready to stretch my legs all the way to the balcony, only to realize halfway into the dance floor that I didn't know if there was a balcony at the club. I desperately needed a cigarette, so I decided to elbow my way through the crowd all the way to the elevator. All that rubbing elbow with celebrities was getting on my nerves, and that Gen Z posse was way more than I could bear for a minute, a month, a decade. Who am kidding, for a lifetime! Squeezing myself among their skinny and toned bodies, I managed to find a pathway out of the bar.
Three billionaire upper east girls were drooling all over a tall black dude wearing some sort of patchwork blanket wrapped around his body. I thought he looked like a homeless thug who got lucky and found some cover in a dumpster. Still, I was aware of my infinite ignorance about fashion, pop celebrities, and political correctness. So I left them behind while having another reality instant checking with age.
Somehow I got lost trying to get to the elevator and had to fight my way out of the packed DJ booth worshiping area. I overheard the new Leo in-the-making saying to what looked like a journalist, an influencer, or a fan: "Hosting is easy, man." I rolled my eyes, acknowledging that I definitely didn't belong there. I was saved from total despair when I spotted the smoking deck. "There's a smoking deck!" I cried out loud, excited. "Yeah, bro, after the restrooms, that's where the party is actually happening" said this black muscled kid passing by who was obviously having a kick with my oasis vision discovery. I chose to ignore him, but not before noticing he was wearing a very tight and revealing mesh bodysuit. I laughed, thinking to myself, "there's a lot to unpack here!" before reaching the over crowed "who-is-who" smoking deck.
"I don't fit here," it seemed I finally had a breakthrough, as I accepted the fact that there was no room for me at the deck. I needed a cigarette more than ever.
A group of underdressed and overdressed youngsters was getting in a position for a selfie, and I found myself paralyzed against the wall and unintentionally photobombing their picture. They didn't notice my presence smashed between them and the wall, a feather sticking from someone's costume sticking to my face.
That's when I heard the host yelling to his entourage: "Let's roll! Let's roll!" His followers quickly got on the move, and almost in tears, I watched a bubble of space opening in front of me, clearing the path to the elevator. I tumbled rushed to the elevator door, pushing away a couple of celebrities on my way to it. Then, someone yelled, "She's in a hurry," followed by a loud group roar. I felt like correcting it and cried back: "Not she, they!" And suddenly, I was speaking their language, although it was a lie. The group immediately stopped laughing; one of them, a girl with big platform boots wearing a Marilyn-like bob, even took a bow while yelling her approval back at me: "Respect!"
As I reached the pavement and tobacco nirvana, I thought about the 70s and the roaring 20s. A time-lapse of images passed through my eyes while I thought of everything that happened in the world since then. Now I was really scared. That's when my phone buzzed an incoming message. There I was! Bug eyes, flat smashed in the background photobombing a group of people wearing Ziggy Fell Follies meet Transformers costume on a screenshot from BFA's after-party live streaming. Below the picture on the text message, a question: "Is that you?" followed by "Omg" emoji and all. I took a deep and existential drag on the cigarette and though, “Yeah, this is the end."