In honor of Pacha’s closing last weekend, I bring to you some of the finest memories from New York City’s most notorious club. These are pretty NSFW so we made them anonymous just incase someone’s parents or boss stumbles upon them. Reading these stories will probably bring back many similar memories of your own. For those of you who haven’t had a taste of the typical night out at Pacha – you’re in for a real treat.
When the smoke clears…
My favorite part about Pacha was the horn and the cool smoke they would blow onto the main floor. The smoke was cold so it felt amazing when you were sweating your ass off dancing. The only problem is you couldn’t see anything for a few minutes until it cleared. I was dancing and felt someone grab me and we started making out in the fog. I was wasted and also was dancing with a really cute guy before so I thought it was him. When the smoke cleared I realized it was an old sweaty man wearing a wife beater. I ran.
But first, let me take a selfie.
I was set on getting a selfie with Tommy Trash. The only problem was that the DJ booth is so high up that it’s almost impossible. So I decided to try and hand him my phone so he could take one himself. I spent most of my night trying to scale the booth wall just to reach his arm. The next week my friends and I were going through pictures on Pacha’s website and all you see is me and my constipated face front and center trying so hard to reach him. It was so embarrassing.
Caution: slippery dance floor.
Pacha NYC was always the go to place for my friends when we were looking for a fun, weird night and of course early morning out. Being that Pacha isn’t the ideal place to show up sober, one night we decided to pergame at The Pony Bar a couple of blocks away. After three vodka sodas too many, we finally arrived at Pacha. Not long into a night of dancing to funky beats, I had an urge I know all too well. Time to puke. As I tried to push my way through the sea of people, I surrendered to the crowd, vomited right on the dance floor, wiped my mouth and continued partying as if it never happened.
Shameful bathroom visits.
I had quite the surprise during my most recent night out at the glorious Pacha NYC. After waiting in line for the bathroom with hopes of enjoying some of my favorite white powder before venturing upstairs to the dance floor, I was finally next. I go into the stall and immediately gag. Spotted: a shit on the floor. That’s right, an actual poop log just sitting to the right of the toilet. Once I talked myself out of vomiting profusely, I decided to do what I came to do and then I was on my way. Shit forgotten (pun intended).
On a mission to get to the main floor.
My funniest story from Pacha has to be the night we went there after EZOO was cancelled. The main floor was packed so they stopped letting people downstairs. That wasn’t okay so I went to the top level of Pacha where you’re allowed to smoke a cig outside and there’s also stairs leading to the main floor smoking area. As soon as the bouncer turned around I booked it down the stairs and snuck onto the main floor. I felt like Andy Dufresne.
Don’t show up sober
One time I made the huge mistake of showing up sober to Pacha. I was rushing to get ready and coming from Brooklyn so I missed the pregame. I got there and all my friends were slammed. I was trying to play catch up but the place was packed and I couldn’t get drinks fast enough. My friends were dancing while I was being groped by creepers. Everyone couldn’t stop talking about how much fun they were having so I waited it out. Everyone was touching me. EVERYONE. I have never been more miserable.
We’ve all tried this at least once.
My roommate and I would always try, sometimes failing and sometimes succeeding, to get into VIP. One time we entered from the sketchy ass alley that also functioned as a car parking lot and managed to skip the line and we didn’t get caught. We were giggling like school girls.
Sometimes you should just stay home.
One time I REALLY didn’t want to go, but as always I lost the Pacha battle. My friend and I took a Vicodin to get us in the spirit. We get in and she is overwhelmed with regret by being there. She chugs a beer and immediately vomits on the dance floor and then we leave. That’s my last memory of Pacha.
We’re on the list.
When we all went to pacha after EZoo was cancelled, and so did pretty much everyone else. The place was packed and they weren’t letting people downstairs to the main floor. My friend was trying to get me downstairs by showing the bouncer a text on his phone from Eddie Dean (the owner) saying to come downstairs. In reality he changed my name to Eddie in his phone and told me to text him “come down.” I was so fucked up I couldn’t understand what he was trying to do. The plan didn’t end up working, but to this day he has me as Eddie Dean in his phone and every time I call him he picks up and is like “Eddie!”