Sixteen. Or so. That’s probably the average age of the public that the Kruiskade club attracts. A club where at around 1.00 a.m., the willing teenager – #wasted – has a photo taken with that gorgeous barman.
You see it in the boy too – in a shirt for the first time – and the girl – tight dress – who catch sight of each other at 2.00 a.m. They dance ostentatiously towards each other, until the boy coils around her. Or see the two girls twerking against the wall.
Because, hey, Miley Cyrus did it too.
For ten euros admission, you’ll get the whole package. What you get is a big round bar, surrounded by a dance floor. Here and there, you’ll find a platform. These are the places where you leave that randy friend of yours from the group. Like leaving your child in the kids play corner at Ikea.
Teenage boyfriends pop up like obstacles. They – pale, thin arms sporting Dad’s old watch dangling on their wrist – jump to defend their friends. “What do you want?’’ they bark. Which will only encourage your untameable friend to try even harder.
Meanwhile, the greatest hits from the Top 40 are played non-stop. Which is fine, because that’s what the audience wants. In fact, the revellers only really lose their cool over the Chinese party photographer, who is by far the most popular guy here.
He proves to be the type who complains when a boy worms his way among a group of posing girls. Funny, thinks the boy. Get lost, says his opponent, engaging in a staring contest. The boy raises his middle finger. The photographer has already turned away.
De Beurs: letting Dad back into the ball pit.