Everyone you’ll meet in Tiger Tiger Leeds
Shout out the bald bouncer
It’s Tuesday night, and you already need a drink. It’s time to channel your inner Yorkshire, and Tiger Tiger is the only place you’ll find a true Leeds local. There’s just something about the sticky floor, heat and tiny smoking area that makes us go wild. You should be over it by now, but you’re not. The £2.50 vodka ensures it’s always a hazy but interesting experience.
Be warned, you’ll see everyone you’ve ever sat a GCSE with inside. After not seeing each other since prom, you’ll spend your night forcing the same repetitive conversation with every single person from your Spanish class, before getting a selfie and promising to “catch up soon”. Tapas, maybe? You’re probably still not over the fact they removed the poles last summer… betrayal like no other. But if you’re willing to forgive and forget, here’s the definitive list of the people you’ll meet inside the best club ever.
That bald bouncer
This man has seen it all. All the highs, and all the lows. The memory of him turning you away when you were 16 stays with you. You were young, naive and wrongly thought you could beat the ID scanner. He instills so much fear that even now, aged 21, you still spend your time in the queue practising your own address and date of birth. Just hope he doesn’t ask whether you’re a Pisces or Capricorn and you should be fine.
The No Curfew King
Everybody either loves them, hates them, or wants to be them. Their promo statuses get more aggressive as Tuesday gets closer, as they remind everyone it’s going to be a “mad one”. Eventually, you succumb to the pressure and send them an awkward WhatsApp message asking for guest list, to which they almost always replies “yes hun… GET DOWN EARLY! xx”.
Just back from their holiday in Ibiza, it’s VIP season all year round for these players. Nothing about Albion Street screams Ocean Beach, but the No Curfew King lures you in with his charm and sophistication. There’s just something about the combination of a blazer and clipboard. They’ll entice you with the promise of a free table and a ‘bottle’. Which, in reality is probably a shot of Glen’s vodka, mixed with cranberry juice.
The Ralphy Roadman
Often found in that downstairs room no one knows the name of, these are a breed like no other. West Yorkshire’s answer to BBK, they’ll spend their night posing with a bottle of Grey Goose that cost more than their rent…. “trapping ain’t dead”. Or, you’ll see them solo and on the prowl for fresh meat. That’s until the wickedest grime track comes on and everything comes alive. Squad assemble. Nothing about the Ralphy Roadman is low key. Step on their Yeezy’s and they’ll end your life. That, or pour a double lemonade (most likely, your own) all over you. This ain’t a culture, it’s their religion.
The out-of-town girl
Everyone has to pick a struggle. And for these dolls, it’s that the bar doesn’t serve Prosecco. Annoyingly attractive with too much class, Felicity studies Medicine at Leeds Uni. Having left the comforts of her hometown of Kent, she’s decided to stay in Leeds over the summer for a work placement. Why? If she had any sense she wouldn’t leave Hyde Park, but these out-of-town girls think they know best. After a few too many Peach Bellini’s at the Alchemist, “Fliss” and her pals have found themselves on a spontaneous midweek bender. But, by the way they’re galloping around the White Room in Chelsea Boots, it’s obvious to any Tiger veteran that they’re in way too deep. Your gap year in Nepal year can’t prepare you for this one, hun.
The toilet attendant
You thought it’d be funny to steal a strawberry Chupa-Chup off her in 2012, and by the look on her face she’s still not over it. Don’t be fooled by the rocks they’ve got, there’s nothing generous about the toilet attendant. Out for themselves and ruthless with every transaction. Devastatingly persuasive, they’ll befriend you early on in the night… only to hit you (and your bank balance) where it really hurts when you need them most. You’ll spend an hour bartering for a single piece of chewing gum and a spritz of Lynx eau de toilette, but £3 is the lowest they’ll go. “No spray, no lay”, apparently.
The Saver-Menu socialite
You’ve never seen them inside the club. In fact, you’re not even sure they’ve ever been inside the club. But yet every week, come 3am, you’re guaranteed to find them in McDonalds in the midst of all the drama. Literally this is the highlight of their night. A guaranteed source of gossip, they know everyone and anyone. Don’t underestimate these prins though, they know what’s happening in every postcode.
But please, the party’s over and this isn’t a social event. Stop chatting shit and let me eat my McFlurry in peace.