Website: N/A
Date Visited: June 23, 2011
I knew, before I got there, that this was going to be a bitch. Not consciously, but I'd googled The Green Room before and read through the reviews. I half-heartedly digested the comments and brushed them aside so that I could, one day, experience the ridiculousness on my own.
The Green Room is any other club in any other city. It's Love in DC. It's Roxy in Providence. It's the place people stress to get into just because other people stress to go there. It's where men go to flash cash they'll regret spending the next day and women wear the best pieces they own. I'm not saying this is a bad thing --it simply is what it is. The labels walking through the front door is appalling. The male -to-female ratio is impressive (pro for the guys).
Long story short: We didn't get in. Actually... we did. But somehow, our tickets were different from the people in front of and behind us and we were asked to pay admission at the door. My friends took it as an example of racism and, combined with the bouncer telling us that they switch tickets up to "keep the riff-raff out," they're right. It's a pretty mixed crowd, but the black men get more leeway than Black women do, I noticed. The white girls have it easy but... that wasn't the case with us. (Frankly, I think I was wearing too much clothing.) They're selective, to say the least. In my opinion, they want to bring in as much money, cash, hoes as possible. My friends and I didn't fit the part. We weren't there to buy tables --we were there to enjoy a drink and scenery, but that's not what Greenhouse is about. It's about the men who are spending cash and the women they're buying. My assumption is this: They knew we weren't going to be bought -we'd probably stand around looking stuck up --so it was decided that we would have to pay to be there.
I'm not mad at it. The Green Room is the type of place you go to make other people look bad --at least that's why Id go there. I've decided I'll never fight my way through that line again --I have no patience and I hate waiting. The only way I'll approach the doors of the Green Room is with a parade full of bad bitches complimented with stacks on stacks on stacks. I think they wanted to make us pay at the door to ensure that we'd spend some sort of money there. If I were a club owner, I'd do that same --whether it's racist or not. There are people (especially women) who go to the club and spend no money. I'd want to either get what they have or get the out. After that fiasco, we left. (Although we did try to pay but the worthless bouncer at the front was being all authoritative in proving to us that they don't value his bitch ass either since he couldn't get us back to the front.) To me, it felt like they won.
It's the type of place Black people get no respect unless you throw money at bitches. Males and females. It's not the place for me. Full of BMF men and women (blowing money fast and bowing men fast respectively). It's a hoe fest. But... somewhat undercover hoes. You can buy bitches there if you have enough change in your pocket. No one care about you or who you are...Actually... that's all that matters. If you aren't making waves, if you aren't getting VIP treatment, you shouldn't be at The Greenroom. VIP or go home. Them men are there to show out and take something easy home. The women are there to look pretty and pretend they don't care about the money. You should have seen them react when anything above 6'2 entered the vicinity. Women smell money and, I'll admit, I caught the scent for a little bit until I realized that the extra F in those Fendi monograms stood for fake --like all the nails, eyelashes, hair and fame (if I don't automatically recognize you, you ain't shit. I don't care how many step-and-repeats you pose in front of).
It's a fake spot where local celebrities call the shots because they're on their 13th minute. I don't like that kind of self-labeled fame. It's like... fame acquired on a nightly basis. Everyone there is hot-shit after 11pm, but probably go back to working retail in the morning. "I'm glad you decided on somewhere else," a co-worker told me the next day (as I tried to function on 3 hours of sleep)--although she's unaware of the circumstances of our leaving. But, shit... I am, too. "I feel sorry for the guys picking wifeys outta this bunch," I overheard a guy say as he stood looking at the sign. Now, he might have simply been mad that he was looking like a bum and getting no attention due to his style --he's the kind of guy who dresses in clothes by No Money Inc -- or he might have been right. Either way, glad I wasn't part of it.
My advice: Don't hit Green Room unless you plan on spending change. If you do, you'll probably have a blast. Liquor does things.
Our next stop: Falucka
HAhaha Love this review. I've never been there but now I know what im getting myself into
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