10 things you don't want to hear in the club

Let’s face it; going out can be a bit of a logistical nightmare. But as people who like to enjoy themselves at the weekend, we battle through to try and find that perfect combination of music, setting, atmosphere, social lubricants and cash flow. So once we do hit that Fibonacci spiral of enjoyment, we want to stay in that moment for as long as possible.

Unfortunately, just like the high of that cheap pill you know you shouldn’t have bought, that happy place can quickly turn into the kind of hell where Satan himself takes the form of Katie Hopkins. Maybe it’s due to the communal nature of clubbing, but you’re bound to bump into someone who will say something that’s going to make you cringe or cry or both.

The worst thing is maybe, without knowing, you’re actually that person. Wrecking people’s special moments with your rubbish chat, or ruining a night with a dodgy key. Well, thankfully, we’ve put together a guide to avoid being that person. You’re welcome.

This is a big fucking no-no. One of clubland's cardinal sins and a sackable offence from your rave crew depending on the severity of the crime. We're talking about dropping one, guffing, letting rip, farting. Of all the places not to trump in a public space, the dancefloor ranks as highly as the cinema during a death scene or at church during the Lord's Prayer. Last thing you want when you're letting loose on the floor is the overwhelming smell of last night's dinner permeating around your personal space. Everyone around you hates it and fingers start getting pointed. Either one of your intoxicated mates owns up or there's someone giggling and sneering three- people back from you. Most of the time, the culprit gets away with it and to be honest we'd rather not know who dealt it because they're getting the nickname of "the gassy one" forever. Fuck that person being your best friend.

Uh-oh, we're in trouble here, people. This could spell the end of our happiness and frivolity on the dancefloor. Somebody grab cushions, Enya's discography and a quiet, darkened room – basically, anywhere but the club. Picture the scene: you're having an absolute ball in the rave, all your mates are full of energy and seemingly nothing can worsen the mood. You're having a dance and someone thrusts a key in front of your nose, so you sniff. It feels weird, it feels sharp, it smells like regret. Here comes the line you don't want to hear: "Shit, that was ket". Game over. You're not big on the horse stuff and you know it's not going to be a good few hours. You think "what a fucking wasteman" before flying around feeling like a unicorn.

Of all the social media sites circulating out there in the world at this very moment, from Facebook, to Twitter, to Bumble, why is it that LinkedIn is the most embarrassing? Like, people would rather say they’re still on Bebo than LinkedIn. We're not saying it’s not a functional tool (it totally is) but, like Ashley Madison, people would rather that information didn’t become public outside a specific group of people doing the same thing. So when we hear it in the club, we can’t help but cringe a little bit. It’s the epitome of networking, hidden agendas, and ulterior motives and business should be left at the door when you're on a night out. Simple as that.

Oh god. Look, of course hearing this is going to be dependent on how you broke up and how long ago it happened, but when you’re trying to lose yourself in the dance (and possibly find a new partner in the process), the thought of seeing the person you used to send aubergine emojis to can really kill your buzz. Tension will fill the air and thoughts like ‘when you should I go say hi?’ ‘Should I even say hi?’ ‘Why aren’t they saying hi to me?’ ‘Should I say howdy instead?’ will rattle around your brain. Combine this with para-inducing chemicals, or dickhead-inducing alcohol and your night out with Ricky V is falling apart a lot faster than you intended.

We all know someone who can't resist bragging about the fact they've been to Berghain. Sure, the club is pretty exclusive, it's quite hard to get in and it is fucking incredible, but to boast and gloat to others who haven't been is just plain long. "Wicked mate, did you get a t-shirt as well?" is a great reply to this but it still doesn't detract from how much of a buzzkill it is to hear the smarmy sentence in the rave. Why can't we just dance and enjoy ourselves without feeling berated that we haven't been to one club of thousands of clubs around the world. The most annoying instance of this is when you're at a techno party and the offender can't help themselves from rubbing it in. If it's that good, why don't you fuck off back there, pal?

Somehow, it’s 2017 and brostep still has a lot to answer for. The American bastardisation of dubstep, lead by the likes of Skrillex, Bassnectar and Knife Party, is well known for cannabalising the genre. People seem to think brostep IS dubstep, still. Simply put, it’s not. And if you think going to a Mala & Coki gig and indignantly complaining to your friends that the “drops are weak” or the tunes “don’t wanna make me rage, bro” in a way to earn credibility then you’re in serious need of an education.

Seriously, work chat? Are you fucking kidding me, fucking WORK CHAT? You, in your River Island blazer, honestly want to talk about the place where you spend 40 to 50 of your hours a week, using every hated minute as fuel for the weekend that we are currently trying to enjoy? Everyone has got a job, mate. Some are interesting, others are boring as fuck but not a single one of them deserves any more oxygen at the weekend than they leech from us of during the week.

As stated in our Shazam feature recently, the ruthless grasp that cigarettes hold over the raver has always been an unavoidable annoyance. The music is amazing but you're craving a little white stick. No real problems there, right? Well it depends. If you're one those people that chains a ciggie, goes to the dancefloor for 2 minutes then goes back, then you're at fault. Worse still, there are people out there who just spend the entire time in the smoking area, like, all night? The key word in "I'm going for another ciggie" is "another". If the frequency of this cigarette smoking is more than one every half an hour, you need to get down the local GP for a stop smoking kit because you're killing our buzz, man.

If you are unfortunate enough to hear this in the club, then you know it only means one thing and it’s not a Christian youth councillor talking about their bible. Here you are spending your hard-earned cash on something illegal and probably of poor quality, and your mate has lost it somewhere in the depths of his Roshe Runs. It shouldn’t matter, but it probably will.

It's come to the end of the night and you're either ready for bed or you're ready for a crack-on. Nine times out of ten you're ready for a crack-on but unless you've got one pre-prepared, then here comes a tricky decision. Where is the best place for you to go that requires minimal effort but is also within a reasonable distance from your own yard. Your mate's, mate's, friend's brother has a free house, decks and loads of booze. You think, "fuck it, let's do it". You ask whereabouts the sesh is and then comes the hammer blow. "Oh it's an hour and a half in an Uber". Your heart sinks, you thought it was game-time but essentially it's game over. The moral of this story is, don't pitch an afters unless it's not too far for everyone to travel. Be considerate goddamn it, your house isn't enough.

Funster is Mixmag's Deputy Digital Editor and he's been to Berghain loads, find him on Twitter or going for another ciggie

Louis Anderson-Rich is Mixmag's Digital Intern and he's always dodging his exes on the dancefloor, find him on Twitter but not LinkedIn