Out of the closet 2003

Salt nightclub (published in ‘veeza magazine’, Melbourne 2003)
"Wah this place opened and closed already hahahaha!"

If girls are “sugar and spice, all things nice”, what is “Salt”? It’s a place meant to neutralise the sugary cute little thingys and transform ‘em into babelicious sirens. Including me…naturally. (Okay, deny your nerdhood!)

I remember fondly the birth of Salt in February 2000. The card said “Opening Ceremony, by invitation only”. Smiling radiantly, I was proud to be an exclusive elite so donned my prettiest frock and attempted the “smoky eyes” look. That night in Salt, air pollution was at its worst. It was the “smoke gets in your eyes” look coupled with groping in the dark to get to the toilet.

Now, in its middle ages, it’s become a household name with uni-fied Asians (My lecturer says I should economise on words) . Yep, hip young Asian poseur wannabes come here for their dosage of grey smoke, the alcohol binge and throwups. Er, they don’t see it that way. They like the “music”. You know, the type mummy can’t stand that vibrates the house? Maybe that’s why it’s called “house music”?

They spin “house techno” on Fridays on the main white-tiled dancefloor. Careful about those Rapunzels (is it an Asian phenomenon to grow hair so long?) in four-inch stilettos swinging neon sticks around. If one hits your head you find your skull resonating with the boom beat. Try your hand at dancing. Imagine your palms like chicken wings on a barbecue pit; gotta keep flipping ‘em around or they’ll get burned. Kick your toe and heel around like you’re doing tap dancing in fast-forward mode. Suddenly the two-storey blue ceiling looks more interesting to me. Oh dear, I’m getting old. I have no energy to keep up.

Time to flirt with the bartender. Shucks, he’s only interested in my money. Maybe it’s the bad lighting—red light from the counter clashes with my skin tone.

I usually pay about $7 for mixers. Wanna get thrashed? Try the “graveyard”. It’s a grey emulsion of I-dunno-whats, looks like cement and smells like rotten tuna. Promise you’ll be kissing everybody and telling them you love them—in no time.

The poser has to move onto better territory. Wu Tang Clan and LLCoolJ are more my cup of tea. Ya git mah drift bruther?

Hidden in the corner is a swelteringly hot puny room with parquet flooring. Yo, did ya realise that it’s all red? Red couches, red lighting, red bar-counter, red faces from too much alcohol... Survey the smarmy guys. No, they survey me first. But they turn away quickly. Whew.

On Fridays, Salt suffers from a drought of pretty lasses. Even if your face looks like a car smashed into it, head to RNB room to get picked up!

My deal is simple. Buy me a drink and I’ll talk to you for ten minutes. Then I move on. I don’t meet guys in clubs. Oh frustration, they want to dance before a drink. I don’t know who is the loser—them or me. I have totter in my painful heels to the counter, flash my Colgate smile and wave my $20 bill at the bartender again!

They play radio-friendly rhythm and blues. None of that hard-hitting rap-spewing tuneless stuff. Some reckon it is a microphoneless karaoke session. They bellow the lyrics while gyrating their hips a la Ricki Martin. Others climb onto the stage to shake their behinds. Why not show off those glutes you spent the whole week working on?

At six am, lights flick on and everything stops.

The party atmosphere depends on the crowd. The first three weeks of the semester and the semester holidays are packed. Depending on the season, the entrance fee starts at $10. Hang your mink coat in the coatroom for $2. Spot the entrance of the club near Legends, an expansive pool and snooker hangout along Daly Street, adjoining Chapel Street. Oh yes, try not to wear jeans or sneakers on Friday—they can be prissy about dress code.

Asians also congregate here on Wednesday. The mini room plays RNB while the main floor plays Retro music. Retro means Bananarama-mama, Uptown-Girl era. But don’t come here in calf warmers or Elvis’ hair. You’ll be ostracised. By all means, wear jeans.