Well dear pomoter,

I heard last night’s party was completely sold out. I suppose congratulations are in order. Way to go! It’s what every promoter wants, and I’m sure you worked really hard to get all those people through the door.

And there sure were lots of them. A never-ending stream, in fact, flooding inside like the last refugees of the zombie apocalypse. Which was fine at first. We got there early and knew the centre of the dance floor wouldn’t stay empty all night. And as it filled, we slowly eased our way to the front right like we always do.

But soon even that spot was packed. We hung on, stayed optimistic, and did our best to keep dancing despite getting walked into every 30 seconds, which—lemme tell ya—can really fuck with your mojo.

It’s like, imagine you’re on a hot one night stand. You finally get over that awkward, get-to-know-you hurdle at the beginning, find your sexy rhythm and start getting into it when—BAM!—your mother tapps you on the shoulder and asks you why you haven’t called her lately. She then leaves as quickly as she appeared. You shake it off and get back in the groove for a few sweet minutes like everything's fine, then suddenly mum wants to know when you’re coming to visit, because it’s just been so long. This happens again, and again, and again. Each time she leaves, it’s a little more difficult to remember what you were doing in the first place, until you either tell your partner you’re sorry, or finish in a haze of frustration and confusion.

Sure, you got laid, but can you really say the experience left you satisfied?

Unfortunately, you didn’t seem to care much about our experience last night. If you did, you’d make sure the club didn’t turn into a sardine can full of ravers on the verge of a claustrophobia-induced panic attack. Come to think of it, I actually saw a guy lose his mind at one point. Covered in sweat and with a look of pure desperation, he told his friends he needed some fresh air. And turning to leave, the sudden realisation that an impenetrable wall of humans 30 rows thick stood between him and freedom was more than he could take.

I’ve never seen a man ravage his way past other people so quickly. And lemme tell ya, it was not a pretty sight.

But you made your money and then some, so all good, right?

Who cares if we were terrible in fire danger? Who gives a shit if half the party spent the whole night desperately clinging onto their friends? Who cares if we could hardly get a drink, go to the bathroom, or even breathe in the crush of bodies? To you, we’re just walking, dancing ATMs, good only for buying a ticket and getting the fuck out.

Sure, lots of people were too messed up to notice how chaotic it was. And they’ll probably come back again. But not forever. Word spreads, and people move on.

Because it is your problem. And really, what’s the point of going out if the entire night is a struggle? There isn't. Partying is no fun if there are too many people.