Imagine you have a regular drinking location that you frequent. You've been going there for years, some of your favourite memories have taken place there. You know that when you go there you will get a friendly welcome in fun, reassuring surroundings.
Then one day you go in, The name above the bar is the same but suddenly its all different. There are neon lasers projected onto walls, smoke machines, foam makers and the place is full of women, apart from a brainless stripper on stage, who is topless and eating a lump of wood while the women cheer and scream, slipping on the floor and falling through windows.
You look across at a crystal cup that used to be mounted on the wall, must have had some historical significance. Maybe it was a trophy. Perhaps someone famous once drank from it. You don't know, but it's something symbolic of the place. Now it's being used to catch the vomit of one particular woman who's had a few too many.
You see one solidarity black woman in the corner, but decide to avoid her as she seems to be mentally unstable. The stripper begins taking a buzzsaw to his own arm while the women begin to cheer louder. You're miserable and covered with party foam. Which gets everywhere. In every crack.
You go outside and talk to the bouncer.
"What happened to this place??"
"It was changed."
"Why?"
"To accomodate a newer fresh audience. It's more progressive."
"But it was great the way it was! Why change it? Look in there! There are women smashing plates over each others heads, falling over, breaking through walls..."
"They are having fun aren't they?"
"... Well yes... But you don't understand. I LOVED this place. I absolutely loved it. So did so many people I know! I used to talk late into the night with people about this place! And it looks like a generic club now! You've stripped it of all its character. It looks so cheap! And yes people in there are having fun, but it's not my kind of fun!"
"Well maybe you are getting too old for this place, did you think of that?"
"No, it's not that at all! The place used to have an older demographic anyway. People grew up knowing this place. But it's completely changed it's target market, it's unfair to the regulars who come here. For one thing it's full of women..."
"Oh so THAT'S it, is it? Can't stand seeing women having fun? Women can party just as hard as guys. You know I encounter misogyny like yours all the time. You scum."
"WHAT?? It's not that they are women in there. I love women! It's just full of women going CRAZY. Were you handing out free cocaine at the door? They are off their TITS. There is one guy in there, true, but I don't think him and myself would get on. I watched him trying to feed a carrot to the condom vending machine. And where is Bill that used to help run this place?"
"He's still here. He cleans the crap off the walls at the end of the night."
"THAT'S what Bill is doing now?? He made this place! You can't make him a Janitor, he deserves more! Besides, I know Bill would absolutely despise working here! Why did he accept that position??"
"That's confidential. Look, this is the way it is now, so you better learn to like it. It's still the same place. You can either pay up, swallow that misplaced male ego and try and enjoy yourself or you can bugger off, you sexist prick."
You leave, but turn and look back at the place one last time. You feel the bass through the ground mixed with the never ending screams of hysterical women, and through the ever-changing tone of the glass windows, the silouette of projectile vomiting. You look up at the name of your once-loved home from home mounted above the door. It looks the same, but someone has taken it into photoshop and stuck a bevel emboss on it. It reads: GHOSTBUSTERS.
A single solitary tear rolls down your face as you walk home.
