Jim vs Red Lion

For the maybe two people that frequent this blog, ya'll knew Lion was a rant waiting to happen. Last Thursday, I got my first Red Lion experience; based on the the people I was with, it was a good night to go. When we rolled up at around 11:00, the line of sorostitutes was all ready out the door and growing quickly. For most UIUC students this was the last night for (gasp) a week to get their Lion on. After about 10 minutes of waiting in the Red Line, I presented my state ID to the ID checker who glanced at it for just longer than the Planck Time. I handed one crispy Lincoln to the cashier, and I was in.

As a second year student, I have never experienced an Illinois sans Red Lion, but apparently it opened for business just months before I arrived for orientation. Keeping this fact tucked in the back of my mind I slowly inched forward in the alien world of graphic tees and "button-up, stripy, going-out-to-get-laid shirts".(Seriously, click that link) My jungle guides on this quest are a team of seasoned Lion veterans. The first thing I noticed about the bar its size. From the exterior the building doesn't appear to be spacious, but upon entrance I realized that it is simply one, large open room. Another puzzling aspect was the decor. Large pennants and flags drape from the steel rafters giving the impression that I had just walked into a Dark Age Mead Hall. I half expected to see Grendel's arm hanging from the rafters.

As a waded through the swamp of people the lights dimmed and the music became louder, as though the bar was only allowed a certain amount of power to split between the lights and the sound system. As I was bushwhacking my way, an attractive waitress offered me a shot from her tray. I declined, but took note on the apparent ease of purchasing at this fine establishment, The bar is arranged like a NASCAR track with the bar as the infield, so naturally the party-goer field exhibits vector curl. After completing one full lap, I found the urge to use the facilities. Upon walking into the water closet, I   started to become more aware of the industrial scale of Red Lion. The Men's Room was a circular chamber with urinals lining the entire wall making it the most efficient restroom I had ever seen.

Into my second lap, I had lost all of my jungle guides but two. These two were anxious to get up on the dance floor to "rub our 3/4 boners into some sloot's ass" The term dance floor is a bit misleading as there is no actual floor or actual dancing. The dance floor comprises of a plywood stage and 4 tables. Dancing is taken to mean standing and drunkenly swaying back and forth with a member of the opposite sex. A more accurate moniker for this area would be the groping tables. I was charged with the task of plowing us through the ever growing crowds. Upon arrival at the other end of the groping tables, I found myself alone; the two had been engulfed by the ever-rising tide of humanity.

I found myself alone in a hostile environment. Desperately I searched for someone, anyone I was familiar with. In a last ditch effort, I looked in the outdoor smoking beer garden to see if any of the early defectors were taking a break, A quick scan of the crowd turned up nothing so I headed back inside to resume the search. From behind me I heard my name being called. Instinctively, I turned my head and searched for the origin but found nothing, Again, I heard it and looked closer. To my surprise, the person hailing me was none other than the girl who drove me when I was a junior in high school. To make things more bizarre, she was dressed as a bunch of grapes. A brief, uneventful conversation ensued and I cut my losses and headed home.

The solitary walk back proved to be most enlightening for processing my Lion experience. Everything about the bar was designed with one purpose in mind; casual sex. Lion is a product of the raucous, contemporary hook up culture and was designed for maximum effect. Like the Chicken Pot Pie Machine from Chicken Run, Lion delivers astounding efficiency in facilitating hook ups. The low lights obscure what it is you're grinding on. The loud music makes conversation near impossible. The constant stream of cheap alcohol keeps everybody loose. Patrons circulate in loops until finally they bump into someone with whom to "dance". The whole process repeats itself hundreds of times each night. People flock to Lion every weekend with the confidence that a hookup is less than 3 beers and 30 minutes away.

Eplilouge:

I was relaxing on a couch in my dorm, when one of the people I lost at the bar strolls down the hall, girl on his side. We make quick eye contact and he only says one word while nodding his head. "Lion".