Night Out Receipts: Free Shots, Haggling Door Entry, A Collingwood Loft Party

It’s Saturday in Melbourne, payday is within sight, the air is ripe with opportunity. A friend has just moved back to the city and we’re getting twisted in celebration. I didn’t really want to get drunk and I didn’t really want to spend any money.

Pres are at mine and a friend graciously brought a bunch of booze. We drink Prosecco, then crack open my housemate’s pet nat. After several glasses I’m tipsy, teetering on lit.

$0 There’s a day-through-night event on in Fitzroy – tickets are sold out but apparently there are some available on the door. Someone in our group of four orders a car. $0 We arrive at the venue.

Three of us need tickets, and the person on the door informs us tickets were $50. FIFTY BUCKS??? Galled, horrified, we deliberated, finally deciding “fuck it, we’re here now”. Then the door person informs us their payment machine is down so it’s also cash only, opening the door in our booze-addled minds for some haggling.

“Would you do three for $120?” one friend asks. The poor door person is confused – what sort of sick freaks try to haggle door entry at an event? “But if we have to pay cash we should get a discount?” I ask. “How about three for $130?” my other friend asks.

I stand by this. Situational-appropriateness aside, in the cash world bargaining is integral. Whether you’re buying vapes, drugs or shopping at markets – if you’re not trying to barter cash sales you’re being taken for a ride.

But we relent. I have $160 cash on me and pay. They don’t have any change, so they subtly hand me back one of my $20 notes.

I’d like to think it was because they understand. My friend transfers me back $90 for her and the other friend’s tickets. Things get blurry.

Someone buys me a beer, then I pay for another beer and a round of shots. Our friend’s working so I was charged just $10. 14 I buy another beer for myself, $8.

11. The event’s ok, we dance and I discussed with my friend the realisation that everyone there looks over 30. “We’re in millennial mecca,” I confide.

She, drunk, takes this to heart and wants to leave immediately. There was another event in the city which was guaranteed to be amazing with a cool artist performing live at 10:45. 7:40pm: We decide to leave and go there.

We hop on a tram, free. 8pm: Arriving in the city, we head straight to the venue. It looks closed, with no bouncers and no one upstairs.

This particular venue closes relatively early on weekends, so we assumed we were too late. I paid entry, . Speaking to a friend working at the bar, it dawns on us that it was only 8pm.

The club had literally . In our rush to get the hell out of the last party we hadn’t even checked the time. We have a beer in the mezzanine, my bank statement says nothing so I assume my friend paid.

We decide to go to another and return at 10:45 for the performance. We’re wasted, but we smash several cocktails at the bar. I blacked out a bit in this part, but my bank statement reads nothing – either my friend got the drinks or our friends working at the bar were being extremely generous.

In a stupor, we decide to fill our stomachs at China Bar. We ate at least three dishes, who knows what, and I drank a beer. The total was .

While I paid, I realised it was past 11:30pm. We had missed the performance. Our friends who’d been at the first event texts us to go to its afterparty at a loft apartment in Collingwood.

We order a car. For some fucked up reason it costs . The party was packed.

I paid for several more drinks in cash so I have no idea how much I spent. I emptied my wallet, so at least a few. I was sloshed.

My friend transferred me back $40 for her half of the meal. I’m desperate to go home. My housemate decides to come with me.

I wanted to walk, it was only 20 minutes away, but she informed me the next day she she actually booked us a car. I guess I wasn’t capable. $0.

An expensive night of not much. But considering all we did was hop from place to place getting pissed, it could have been far worse. See more .

.