I'm the person in our group who likes to go early to a club to get the best table, geometrically speaking, for view and sound and, if I can swing it, restroom proximity. (I scored big on the restroom thing at Courville's last time, not so big on view or sound though.) While I wait for everyone else to arrive, I drink and chit-chat with the staff and watch all the other poor suckers come in looking for a good place to sit.
Where's the evil in that, you ask? I especially like to watch the people who come in two hours after me who look at me and my primo table like I'm a pork chop sandwich and they haven't eaten in a week. That makes me happy. I actually had one girl ask me last night, in a somewhat snotty tone as I sat with my three saved chairs, "Are people SITTING with you?"
I wanted to say, "Yes, dear. They're invisible and they don't like you either," but I didn't.
Last night I got an unreasonable amount of joy out of watching several different couples wander around aimlessly trying to find a place to park their derrieres. I had to feel bad for the men because their martini glass carrying dates did not look pleased that they were going to be standing all night. Granted, it was Jive Train and every chair and table in the place was taken by 8:30 p.m. but I still felt superior to the rabble below me and my excellently perfect table.
See what I mean? Evil.