But by 11 p.m. the line is already stretching around one corner of the building located in a warehouse section of Washington, D.C. Because it is secluded, and serve no alcohol, seldom does the police bother with the club known as the Icebox.
Contrary to its name, in about three hours it will become a sweat box filled to near capacity with as many as 800 party goers ranging in age from 15 to 26. Many are here early in hopes of beating the $10.00 cover charge. If they can get through the doors before 11:30 women will be let in free, while guys will pay only $5.00. Security, which has a staff that looks like the Cowboys offensive line, is beyond tight. It's almost like being processed into a prison. Anything that can be used as a shank or to conceal sharp objects is confiscated. This includes all pencils, pens, lipstick, bottle openers, and unusual looking key chains.
Women with wire lined bras aren't even admitted. Rules are rules – the metal in the lining sets off metal detectors. And of course, guys better be ready to be felt up. Security will know the size of what you're packing, so donut be embarrassed.
The delay in admitting patrons is partly due to this security, but be sure the promoter doesn't want to lose too much money on this, the biggest night of the week. So the doors don't open soon enough to let everyone in at the discounted rate.
Once yall finally get in, you're immediately hypnotized by the surrounding beauty of stretch jeans, tight shirts, and short skirts, while yo're putting your shoes back on. Waiting for the band to play is the worst part but yall occupy yourselves by crackin jokes and pointing out who your gonna freak when the music starts crankin. You'll also notice the amazingly creative and unique style of fashion of D.C.'s youth, as you see cut up shirts, homemade headbands, and other clothing combinations that you won't see anywhere else (except you might see some bama from out of town trying to sweat the style). At 1:30 a.m., the party has barely started. People are still entering in droves. Already the Icebox, with a capacity of around 1000 is half full. As other clubs and parties throughout the city let out many more will head here.
Anticipation grows as the band begins to warm up.If there are no fights, the party will last until 5 a.m. Everybody begins to move toward the stage. The performers take a minute to see what crews are in the house. You're trying to get in a good positon to get your party on in the huge crowd. The lights go out and a couple of minutes later you here Chris (lead talker for N.E.G.) say "Party Time! Muthafucka Yall Say it!", the crowd resoonds: "Oohhh it's Party Time!". And that begins the first half of crankin music, non-stop damcing, and cold hard freakin.
After a 10 minute break the lights go out and they start all over again but this time the crowd is loosened up and you got a nice spot up on the balcony. The show is about to end as the band plays songs that have the girls bending over and leaning on railings.
All of a sudden the band stops playin. Newcomers think its over, but the real fans prepare for whats next..."Dig Dug! Off Da Musclllle!!!" And just like that the party is kicked back into high gear. The crowd is jumping around and getting as rowdy as they can get.
Once the lights come on, and the go-go does end, you and your boys are soaking wet from your own sweat and peeping the groups of fine ladies as you walk to your car. After chillin outside trying to get 7 digits from one of the females yall hop in the car and hit the nearest 7-Eleven and then head home. And you get ready to do it all over again the following night.
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