No Booze, No Freaking and No Fun At All: Studio 600 the Scariest Club in...

Dance clubs and bars are all the same, no matter what town you’re in. The same characters reside there; the loud drunk girl that just broke up with her boyfriend and is aching for a rebound; the regular patrons that sit at the bar for hours after they got off work and the just 21+ kids that take shots every twenty minutes because they’re living it up; then there is the creeper that lurks on the scantily clad girls that are enjoying ladies night who just want to dance; the pretentious band geek, that is in ten different bands in town that all suck; the Karaoke DJ that sings more than anyone else and the couple that sings “Love Shack” and the “I Touch Myself” girl.

All these things are part of life. This is the fun we think we have in a smoke filled bar. The American dream routine, the escape from the family at home, the night out with friends. The fights, the spilled drinks, we don’t questions any of it because it’s a habit and it’s comfortable. However, I witnessed something that still to this day rots in my brain and gives me nightmares that it even exists.

Studio 600 is the toxin free club in Salt Lake, but this place should not even be called a club, a sock hop or middle school dance would be more fitting. It cost eight bucks to a gymnasium like room with crape paper streamers and other decorations that looked like they’d been bought at Dollar Plus. After walking in I had to fill out a membership form that asked for my cell provider, my e-mail and my home address. Why would a club need this info?

I was instantly reminded that I didn’t belong there and not just by the looks on everyone’s face when I walked in, but also by the voice in my head repeating, “This is fuckin’ weird, it’s like you went back to your grade school dance”. I bought a bottle of water for a buck and noticed that you could also get diet sodas and energy drinks; Bookoo, Redbull, and any other legal liquid amphetamine. They don’t serve booze, but you can drink a beverage that has a consumption warning on it and has been proven to aid in stopping a human heart.

The music, wow, it was whatever the top twenty was but some songs had no lyrics. They were edited for language and content and to top it all off the D.J. reminded the huge crowd (yeah like fuckin’ 200 strong) that there was no “freaking” aloud. I was so freaked out that I couldn’t even say hi to anyone, I felt like a whore in church. I moved to the balcony to get a better look and to people watch. It was really crowded and the whole place was moving. It wasn’t long until a song came on that made the group start line dancing like they were doing the hokey pokey. My skin crawled. I felt like I was in a teen movie with no T & A.

The only good thing was the Karaoke room, but that was also soon turned sour. You were able to choose from a number of songs and sing your guts out. Naturally I was stoked due to my karaoke addiction; I was going to tear it up. I put in David Allen Coe’s “You Never Called Me By My Name”. As I waited for my turn I realized that everyone else sounded like they had been at home practicing for American Idol. I swear everyone there knew the “I Believe I Can Fly” lyrics by heart and had trained to sing like Mr. R Kelly himself.

In all seriousness Studio 600 scared me, I felt like I was in a time warp. Have you ever been to a bar and had to take a shower when you got home? This place was the opposite; it made me want to do the worst of the worst so I wouldn’t feel so clean. I don’t know why people go to this place or why it exists, but it’s like working at the D.I. and expecting not to get paid. It’s like giving someone who has A.I.D.S first aid with no gloves on and thinking you’ll be fine. The only way I’ll go back is if you pay me, and bitches, you don’t have that kind of cash.