I was in Club de Visionaer last night and to look around at the collected facial expressions in the queue for the loo you'd have thought we were waiting to be ritually excuted with a blunt spoon. Heavens above the sheer, unaldulterated misery on these girls faces. Now, to be fair, there could have been some mitigating circumstances that had them all standing their looking like bulldogs licking piss off a nettle. Maybe they just collectively found out that their collective boyfriends are gay, or cheating on them with that horrible bitch Scarlett Johannson plays in that weird film, or massive Red Hot Chili Peppers fans. But more than likely this was just another Wednesday night of drinking with their mates on a lovely Indian summer's evening that they had to toil through. Seriously, the looks of them when they used to come into the bar I worked in on a Saturday night. It would take all my waitressy charm and perk just get a smile out of them, and they were the ones out for the night rather than mopping up Guiness and piss for 6 euro an hour. I ask you.
But the thing is, see, that they are not just horrible grumpy people who don't want to have fun. A few pints and a lot more waitressing perk and they're all smiles and "Oh ja, these Irish pubs macht so much Spass" (incidentally this one didn't, at all, which just proves my point). It's just that they don't seem to be comfortable being fun with total strangers, which I can understand but not condone, seeing as one of the greatest joys in life is connecting with a random individual on a personal level, if only for a fleeting moment. Think about it, that warm fuzzy glow you get when you share a dear-lord-aren't-we-hilarious-and-sure-we-don't-even-know-each-other-madness-total-madness! joke with a total stranger comes about because, if only for the length of time it takes to discuss the state of the loo/queue at the bar/hideousness of the RHCP, you realise that the rest of humanity is not, in fact, made up of horrible shitheads out to ruin your day by being cooler and thinner than you but is choc full of awesome, hilarious people who essentially just want to have a good time.
So, come on Berlin. You can do it. Trust me, you'll enjoy it. I swear I've seen a flicker on amusement and pleasure behind the bemused half-smile you throw me when I insist on making eye contact and smiling when you come out of the bathroom stall. I double dare you to ask if I've any lipgloss on me, if all men are cheating bastards, or just dive straight in there with "Jesus, how awful are the Chili Peppers?". You'll enjoy it, I promise. I'm a scream.