Me: Sir, I have a right to rest here like anyone else.
Him: I don’t care. Our boss cares about the reputation of the club.
Get outta here!
Me: Your boss won’t be thrilled when he finds out who you didn’t let in.
Him: Who? The Pope? Don’t hold up the line, old fart, or I’ll throw you out!
I shook my head, chuckling internally.
If they only knew. They must have seen my smile because the other bouncer got close as if he wanted to fight me.
I was ready. I felt young and already imagined us going at it.
He would try to kick my head, saying something like, “Hey, Grandpa, I have something for you!”
But the sirens of a local police cruiser driving by snapped me out of that daydream. So, I returned to my businesslike demeanor and asked them what made this place so exclusive.
They went into it, boasting about the club’s high standards. To them, I didn’t meet those.
They even said it was reservations only, so right there in front of them, I made one on my phone.
They had no more excuses. The look on their faces as I walked past them into the club was priceless. Inside, the place was everything you’d imagine and more.
The air was thick with a mix of sweat, alcohol, and perfume, strobes and lasers crisscrossed the dance floor, and the bass reverberated deep enough to shake my bones.
However, something felt off.
The smiles seemed too strained, the laughter a bit too sharp. They were like fireflies, but their light wasn’t warm.
Suddenly, Owen sidled up to me and sarcastically asked if I was lost. I told him I was merely taking in the ‘stimulating’ scenery.
I made my way to the bar and ordered a whiskey, neat.
The bartender raised an eyebrow but served it anyway.
With the glass in hand, I toasted to the “fireflies,” hoping these young souls might find some real warmth amid the flashing lights.
Perhaps the bouncer felt bold because he leaned in and subtly warned me that I might be stirring up trouble without realizing it.
Owen talked about club rules and standards and hinted that people like me could disrupt the balance.
Just then, a burly man named Lucho swaggered over, took the whiskey from my hand, and guzzled it down.
He barely had time to smirk before he staggered and collapsed right there. Even I was surprised and confused.
Liam pointed fingers at me, accusing me of having a hand in Lucho’s sudden downfall. I stood my ground.
After all, all I did was watch a man snatch and drink from my glass.
I hadn’t noticed at the time that Owen had put something in my drink when he leaned before. But that’s not that important.
Amidst the commotion, the club’s boss, Antonio, came storming over, and it took him a long time to realize who I was. In fact, it was only when I called him Grandson that he finally recognized me.
Yes, it was my grandson’s club, although I was the actual owner.
I took that moment to express my disappointment in what he had turned the club into.
It was supposed to be a place of passion and creativity, not an exclusionary playground for the elite.
I lectured him for a long time because this wasn’t the legacy I wanted to leave behind. Then, I told Antonio we were having a staff meeting in the morning to change things up.
Luckily, that went by quicker than I expected, and the club changed a lot.
I returned to Inferno several times after to check on it, and my granddaughter, Antonio’s sister, Laura, who had originally dared me to go, laughed hysterically when I told her everything.
But here’s a question: Did I step out of line, or was it a necessary shake-up for a place that had lost its way?
Not all of these grandparents got to see if their lessons and smart moves helped their grandchildren, but learning what they did can certainly help others.
