My adventure at The Sanctuary

The Sanctuary is a club in San Antonio.  In short, I’d describe it as a combination dance club, bar, live music venue, closet, and septic tank.  Confused, you say?  I shall explain.

I went to a concert on Saturday with some friends (which is one of the only reasons to go to San Antonio, whose motto is “Remember the Alamo!  No, seriously.  We need the tourist dollars.  Where are you going?”). We were headed to see Veruca Salt, and we felt good for the band when we sawthe size of the club.  It was pretty damn big.

Then we went inside.

First thing we hears was a high-pitched scream.  This, it would turn out, was the mic check for the punk back playing in a nearby storage closet.  I’m serious.  The small room had a bunch of tables and chairs stacked in one corner.  Oh, and did I mention the band was made up of eleven-year-olds.  It was pretty entertaining, listening to a small child wearing the tightest goddamn jeans I’ve ever seen screaming “I don’t give a fuck!  No, I don’t give a fuck! No, I don’t give a fuck!” over and over again while a parent stands in the back of the room with a “I’m trying to be supportive” look on her face.  It was almost as good as the thirteen-year-old punk girls who looked like they wanted to teach the boys a thing or two about punker love.

It was about this time that I realized there wasn’t a stage anywhere in this club.  There was a large bar, there was the storage closet, and there was what appeared to be a dance club with a DJ booth, but no stage.  Luckily, the bartender (While serving sober-Nate a watery coke) told me the stage was in back.  Cool.

Not cool.

The stage area was the dingiest, dirties live music venue I’ve ever seen, with two small, crappy stage lights that bathed the crowd in white-hot light as the cast a sick green glow on the stage.  The floor was kinda sticky, and the bar was about to fall over.  Seriously, it teetered a little bit when you leaned on it.

And then there was the bathroom…

I’ve seen some nasty bathrooms in my day.  Sudsy’s up in Cincinnati springs to mind.  How people got head in that place is beyond me, but that’s another rant.  The award-winning facilities at The Sanctuary (for piss, apparently) had so much urine on the floor that I had to tip-toe and hope the soles of my shoes were tall enough to keep the wondrous yellow fluid off of my feet.

Lucky for us, Veruca Salt put on a good show, making us forget our surroundings for a few hours.  Hell, I even forgot about the dance floor, so imagine my surprise when I left the concert area only to be assaulted by techno music and writhing college students.  I know, it sounds sexy, but it was one-thirty in the morning and I had a ninety minute drive ahead of me.

So what did we learn?  Don’t ever go the The Sanctuary.  It’s just not worth it.