(Credit: Victor Rodionoff)
Mission #1: crash Bolthouse Thursdays at Area
When it comes to nightclub promoters in L.A., Brent Bolthouse is the end-all, be-all. Lindsay Lohan, Paris Hilton and Ashlee Simpson are regulars at his bashes and the paparazzi are always stationed outside his parties with their cameras at the ready.
So you can imagine my nerves as I ventured solo past a handful of girls in their look-at-me outfits to the front of the line, all of them giving me the glare. I didn’t even have enough time to plan my attack when a promoter/manager dude approached me.
Mind you, I was wearing a sweatshirt, baggy jeans and flip-flops because I'd come straight from Metromix HQ where the attire isn't exactly, um, sexy. Ha. Ha.
"What are you doing?" he asked me.
"I’m just trying to go out. Are you going to let me in?" I replied, startled by my sudden surge of confidence.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"Randi," I said carefully. "Uh, Randi Eichenbaum."
"What have you been in?" he said, convinced I was some child star.
"I haven’t been in anything," I said. "I’m a writer."
"Noooo,” he says. “C’mon."
"I swear. I'm just trying to go out."
"Okay, I’m going to let you in. I want to see what happens."
Mission: accomplished.
Mission #2: get past the doormen at Hyde Lounge
Next I went to Hyde, an ultra lounge so exclusive, even Tara Reid has been rejected. This time my partner-in-crime trailed me to the front door, snapping photos along the way. The paparazzi out front got in on the action too until they realized I wasn’t worth the effort. Ouch.
I’d just gotten into Area, so I was feeling good about myself as I approached the guards, both in matching black-rimmed glasses. But sensitive emo, they were not.
"Do you have a reservation?" one of them asked.
"No," I said.
"Then you can’t come in, reservations only," the other one replied in an irritated tone.
"Would it help if I changed out of my flip-flops and put on heels instead?" I shot back as I dug into my purse for my appropriate footwear.
"No," he replied.
"So then how do I get a reservation?" I asked, only annoying him even more.
Irritated doorman hands me a business card without even looking up. I walk away, defeated.
Mission: failed.
Overall success rate: 50%. My ego was at least somewhat intact.
