Just say no.

Growing up, I never thought I’d actually have to use those three simple words we are taught throughout middle school. Yet, three weeks ago these words were all I wanted to mutter. I went to a club for the first time to experience rave life and was immersed in a completely different universe. Instantly, I knew I didn’t belong.

It took about 15 minutes to get inside. Despite the frigid 40 degree weather, all the girls were clad in sparkly bras and lacy underwear or tiny bikinis.

As I glanced around at the clubbers, I noticed that pacifiers filled the mouths of several teenage girls and boys. Suddenly, the club bouncer pointed at me, and I was ushered inside away from my friend. In the foyer, I approached the front desk and had both my ID and $17 in my hand as I attempted to give them to the people behind the counter. They took my money and didn’t look at my I.D. I entered Darkside and was completely alone until I was reunited with my friend 10 minutes later. It seemed like hours to me.

The blackness of the club enveloped me as I squeezed onto a worn couch and looked around. Neon lights flashed in all directions, exposing the club décor of metal cages and stripper poles. Young girls danced on the poles while shaking their nearly naked butts and stomping their furry boots.

Music surged from all directions, loud and incessant. Suddenly, the DJ stopped the music and Tommy Gunn, one of the club owners began to recite a “prayer.” They pledged P.L.U.R.R. I was unfamiliar with the “prayer” and awkwardly observed the cult-like performance. Then, as the rave resumed, the girls in the metal cages continued their risqué dancing while the guys comfortably lounged on couches in preppy t-shirts and shorts. Even though it looked like the ravers were under the influence, they were all very nice and polite.

A girl with shoulder length, straight brown hair approached us. Her shirt completely covered her and her shorts were decent. She wasn’t dancing ridiculously, so I assumed she wasn’t rolling on Ecstasy. She looked at us and inconspicuously asked, “Do you guys need any tabs?” Tabs is a street name for the drug Ecstasy. That was the first time I was offered drugs that night but not the last. In fact, this scene played out five more times with male drug dealers. “Molly?” They would ask. At first, I thought that they were calling my name. But they didn’t know me.  It was Molly, the drug, a pure form of Ecstasy.

Later, I was treated with a light show.

I was sitting down with my head rested on the back of the couch, while the guy stood in front of me flashing white gloves with colorful lights on the fingertips. From somewhere, 3-D glasses were thrown into my lap and I heard someone shout, “Put them on!” So I did. The guy bent toward my face and his fingertips danced. The lights were a rainbow of exploding fireworks popping at me, and I was mesmerized. Unfortunately, the most enjoyable thing of the night ended as quickly as it started.

By 2 a.m., I was exhausted. For a lot of people, this club provides a weekend getaway, a brotherhood and friendship. But for me, I had seen enough flashing lights, dirty rooms and girls’ butts to last me a lifetime.