Let’s be real, Watford Pryzm is the worst and those who think different need to get out more
It sets the standard for shit clubs
Watford is the type of town that is so painfully suburban, it'll have you gagging to breathe in some stale city air. The residents are the type to persist that they "deffo live in London", just because they can use an oyster card to get to their zone seven Overground stop just inside the M25.
As we all know, in every sad town, there is always an even sadder club. Nestled between a shopping centre where you spent your year eight weekends and a ring road that's impossible to navigate, Watford Pryzm is the epitome of this suburban superclub.
There's a strong chance that this was the place where you lost your clubbing virginity, and spent ages planning it out. That meant huge pres, a messy time organising cabs and at least one of your friends not quite making it out.
Anyone over the age of 19 will brag about the fact that "back in the day it was Oceana", aka the same thing but twice as shit and pretty much falling apart.
From the size of its queues you could be easily fooled into thinking that this must be the country's best club. If you're lucky you won't be crushed in the queue, because that could be a reality. After waiting well over an hour to get in, you certainly hope it's gonna be a good night out.
But it's not. And the ridiculously harsh bouncers should be an indication of that. Even now, when you're safely over the legal age you still get scary flashbacks to the heart-pumping fear of handing over your sister's 22 year-old ID.
You think you're coming into the fine establishment that is Watford Pryzm in your black superstars? Bless. You'd better hope you can pull a Simon from the The Inbetweeners and borrow the nearest piss-soaked smart flats you can find, because otherwise you've got an expensive Uber home.
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Once you've handled enough security to rival JFK, you'll hear the faint thud of some shit Tom Zanetti- Craig David mix and know you've made it.
Maybe you can request a song from the DJ? Sike. If there's one thing Pryzm Watford is consistent at, it's offering the same top 40 remix playlist every time you go.
If it's a student night you'll probably run into 90 per cent of your sixth form. But on a weekend, you'll spend the night batting off the leery advances of creepy old men who think their crappy six man booth has suddenly made them more desirable than 90s Leonardo Dicaprio.
Watford Pryzm deffo has the potential to be a successful pulling ground. Everyone's heard that story of that girl from your history class who got fingered in the main room while Fill Me In was on.
When you tire of the main room, it's ok, you've got options. Option one is the throwback pop room Vinyl, where your mum's friend is probably out on her work do.
Option two is the Curve R&B room, or as literally everyone calls it to be more politically correct: the black room. Another situation where you'll spend the night batting off male attention, this time in the form of wanna be Big Shaq's sweating while trying to force a whine in their North Face jacket.
By 3am, after about two hours of alternating between torturing yourself in the main room and squeezing into the smoking area, you'll be ready to leave and never come back.
Sadly, by the time you get out, Uber is already on a minimum 4x surge and the kebab shop's shut. Dejected, you'll head to Quiznos opposite, which is basically a subpar Subway.
By the time you get on the first overground train at 6am you'll swear that you're never going back to this cesspit of cheeky lads, groping and shit remixes. But the next time you're back home, you'll somehow find yourself in the exact same position left with nothing but your own regrets.
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