Traffic light parties are tragic
The guy who wears all three colours is the worst
Throw a group of students into a room with cheap drink, a dance floor, lack of dignity, and most importantly coloured stickers signifying relationship status, and you have the perfect concoction for carnage.
Red means in a relationship, an ambiguous amber is seeing somebody/potentially game, and green is single and ready to mingle. This simple way of identifying potential chirpses sends clubbers into a frenzied quest to pull.
In no way is it bad to dream of meeting your true love on the dance floor, but traffic light parties aren’t exactly the most romantic setting. They assign a shamelessly crude agenda to the night, being branded as nothing but an opportunity to “get some”…but it might be worth passing up this opportunity.
A night out should not entirely revolve around pulling, but try telling that to the lecherous squads circling the room on the hunt for green branded singletons.
Red is generally safe from the hormone fuelled chaos that descends upon the dance floor. Though they still have to deal with the occasional clubber that gets overly confident with their pulling game and tries their luck.
However, the other colours are like waving a red (in this case orange or green) flag in front of a randy bull.
Donning green or orange essentially cuts out the middle man when on the pull in a club – it eliminates the task of establishing who is available. Even the mysterious amber exhibits the possibility of a pull. People are quite literally putting on a sign that alerts people that they are game. Bold.
But where is the appeal in letting somebody else’s gammy tongue be anywhere near your general vicinity, let alone your mouth, immediately after they have locked lips with the rest of the sea of green in the room?
Then there’s always the one maverick spoilsport that keeps everyone guessing their relationship status by sporting all three colours. If you’re going to go to a traffic light party, the least you could do is follow the ludicrous rules.
And finally, let us have a moment of silence for the red-wearing clubbers who have to witness the melee that is drunk, single, horny students running rampage around the club. Being this poor person takes third wheeling to a whole new level.
In general these nights are a catastrophic flop. After the initial excitement of being branded with a colour, the hysteria lessens as some lovebirds disperse back to their grotty student houses, leaving the rest of the club to pan out in its ordinary way. Tragic.