In 2013, A$AP Rocky and Skrillex teamed up to bring the world "Wild for the Night," a dubstep banger that trapped the sound of the era in amber. The DGAF anthem perfectly encapsulated the "we're all fucked so why not party?" ethos of the times and has since become a staple of in any club or festival DJ's rotation.
As much as I've always enjoyed the song, the unprovoked rudeness element of the message has always given me pause. I'm someone who tries to live by the Golden Rule. And from my own partying experiences, I can affirm that having a raucous evening and being a considerate person aren't mutually exclusive. There's no need for the inconsideration, Rocky. I don't care how much dirty Sprite is involved.
But what if I was wrong? Perhaps my innate civility had been preventing me from unlocking a higher plane of turnt that all the rude boys out there have been experiencing without me. I decided to abandon my moral compass and follow the song's lead by having a crazy night without any of my usual niceties.
I started my odyssey at my brother's apartment as he'd agreed to accompany me for my little experiment. His recruitment was my first act of rudeness. I'd told him I was looking forward to hanging with him that night, but I'd actually roped him in on the off chance my attitude caught me some hands, and I needed someone to step in and/or scrap on my side.
Blissfully unaware of my machinations, he got the night started by passing around a joint while we hung in his living room. I made sure to take multiple drags and hold onto it until he was forced to request it. Aware of what was happening, he handled my selfishness gracefully and with chuckles. I knew I wouldn't be able to count on that from the rest of the night's encounters.
We ordered an Uber to a bar across town. I sat behind the driver, mentally begging him to not engage with us so I wouldn't have to be a dick. He asked how our night was going and what we were getting into. I stayed silent and let my brother field the small talk. Uber drivers are already treated like shit by the company and their passengers so I couldn't bring myself to tell him to just drive and leave us be. Still, my icy silence throughout the ride was enough to constitute "not polite" and I exited the car, satisfied with my performance, making sure to give the door a half slam shut for good measure.
Once inside, I sidled my way through the congregation of people at the bar to get up front. Some people audibly clucked at this move, but nobody called me out to my face. Then, fighting every instinct to the contrary, I waved my hand at the busy bartender to flag him down. This is awful, and something you should never do. The bartender ignored my flailing, making sure to get everyone else's order before attending to me. I was proud of him for this tiny act of resistance. I wished I could have rewarded it by walking away.
"Give me a mojito," I demanded, fully aware that only an oblivious or narcissistic piece of shit orders a drink that requires that much leaf muddling while there are throngs of people waiting for drinks.
A consummate professional, my bartender got to work without any indication of aggravation. When he set the drink in front of me, I chugged it right there in front of him, taking no time to savor any of the craftsmanship he'd put into the cocktail. I slapped the exact change on the bar and walked away, feeling appropriately scummy.
I told my brother—a mixologist himself—of what had transpired, and he reeled in horror. I commanded him to go get me another drink and, once settling up, to give the bartender $10 of his own money to atone for my sins. He did so, partially due to his common decency, partially because he knew I'd likely be tripping over myself to pay him back tomorrow.
We had that round of drinks in a corner booth and I made sure to be as loud and obnoxious as possible while doing so. I was hating myself less than before, thanks to the buzz that was beginning to take hold, but I still was painfully aware of my insufferability.
I followed my brother outside, where he had a smoke. Someone approached us asking for a light. My brother instinctively went into his pocket to help out but reached out and staid his hand. I turned back to the requester and said "no." Nothing more, nothing less. It was fortunately enough to get him to walk away with no more words exchanged.
Once my brother was half through his cig, I yanked it out of his mouth and flicked it into the street, both denying him a few more puffs and littering in one fell swoop. I tugged at his shirt and began leading us down the sidewalk to another venue.
While walking, we passed some groups of women. Even though in impolite mode, I was loath to resort to catcalling. Why ruin some lady's night for the sake of some dumb article? I realized I could achieve my intended goal with minimal damage to the recipient by inverting a classic catcaller move.
"Stop smiling at me," I muttered at the next group we walked by. My brother shouted a quick sorry over his shoulder as we hurried off, leaving the confused (but laughing) girls to puzzle that one out.
We reached our destination, a clubbier spot with a trap-loving DJ and some half-dancing, half-conversing patrons on the dance floor. I ordered another drink order from mi hermano and I went to the bathroom.
A stall was open so I peed in there, making sure to not wipe the stray droplets off the seat. As I exited the stall, the next guy in line shuffled past me to fill the vacancy.
"Doin' some bumps in there?" I asked him as he passed. I wasn't sure about where this fell on the rudeness spectrum, but his shocked expression and huffy, "Ummm, no…" was worth it, regardless. Before heading back to the main room, I thought about not washing my hands but decided that I was only being rude to myself if I went down that path.
I linked up with my brother, took my drink (without thanking him) and scanned the room for ideas on how I could be a prick.
I overheard the people next to us talking about the then-soon-to-be-released indie horror movie, It Comes At Night. I had just seen an early screening that week for work, I chimed in with a "I just saw that! You’re gonna love it. You’ll never see the twist coming."
Butting into a convo is not cool. Butting into one to spoil a movie is a borderline felony in my book. And, yes, alerting someone to the existence of a twist is a spoiler. This is settled law. This particular horror movie, however, has no plot elements that could be construed as a twist. So, while I was able to piss off those people in that moment, should they go see the movie later, they will exit the theater realizing I hadn't actually ruined it for them. Not to toot my own horn but this was a pretty nuanced dickhead move to come up with on the fly.
I finished my drink and went over to the DJ to interrupt her flow and break another unspoken rule of decorum. I leaned over the deck and asked her to play the song that inspired this post. She grimaced and mumbled something about not doing requests. Yet again, I felt ashamed.
I hadn't really had any fun yet, and the evening wasn't even close to cracking my top 100 wildest nights so I called an audible and dragged my brother outside for a Hail Mary.
It was the middle of the night at this point and what could be more egregiously impolite than making a bunch of noise. And to keep things extra wild, that noise would be coming from the car alarms I was about to set off.
We dipped down a residential street and I rocked the trunk of the first car I saw. Nothing. I didn't want to risk causing actual damage so I moved along to another. Nothing again. On the third try, a circa 2000 Ford sedan, I struck gold and the familiar beeps and chirps went off. The gravity of what I'd done set in quick, and I abandoned the notion of setting off any others.
My brother and I scurried around the block to a safe location, pinged another Uber and headed back to his.
In hindsight, the night was a total failure, and I blame it all on my ne'er-do-well attitude. Common decency towards one's fellow man isn't a hindrance to unforgettable experiences, it's the key to unlocking them. My craziest nights of debauchery, in one way or another, all stem from my genial nature and acts of kindness. Nobody wants to invite a boorish shithead to the afterparty or fold them into whatever other adventure the night has in store.
I'll always enjoy the song, don't get me wrong. But going forward, I'll be doing the opposite of its core message. My advice to those going wild for the night: Try being polite.