The other night, I was invited, in a rather unusual way, to a nightclub—or in this case, a disco club—in Kassel, Germany. It was nothing like I expected. Disco from the 1980s through the early 2000s was very different from what it seems to be today, at least at this particular place.

A friend and I were at her house waiting for a family member to arrive at the train station. Once we knew they had arrived, we got into the car. I was the designated driver for the night because I do not drink alcohol. After everyone was together, we headed to the disco club.

This was clearly not an ordinary night there. The parking lot was poorly marked, surrounded by overgrown grass, and if you had never been there before, it would have been very easy to get confused. To make matters worse, there was almost no lighting in the parking area.

At the entrance, security was checking IDs, and this is where I had to laugh. At 58 years old, with a full head of gray hair, they looked at me for about half a second, smiled politely, and waved me through. Their expression practically said, “Welcome, enjoy yourself,” but perhaps there was also a silent thought of, “Do you realize you might be the oldest person here?”

Keep in mind, I may be nearly 60, but I am mentally sharp and still in decent shape. I honestly did not care about the typical age stigma attached to places like this.

Once inside, there was another step in the process: age verification and registration. We were each assigned a card connected to a digital photo taken at the entrance. The system was designed to track purchases and verify who was responsible for paying the bill at the end of the night.

Inside were the first bar, the bathrooms, vending machines, and an incredible amount of Red Bull for sale. From the next room I could already hear the pounding bass, flashing neon lights, and electronic music vibrating through the walls. There were also battery-powered light toys everywhere, people swinging them around in their hands like glowing batons.

We walked up a ramp, through a large doorway, and into the main dance area. There was a second bar, and behind it was the dance floor. It actually was not very large, but it was packed with people in their twenties. Everyone was dancing, jumping, and seemingly having a great time.

But that bass… it was louder than the music itself. None of the songs were the kind people sang along to. Everything seemed curated for one very specific electronic style. There was absolutely no slow dancing, no romantic dancing—just relentless bass pounding hard enough to make my chest vibrate.

And wow, did I get a lot of looks. Men and women alike kept glancing at me. Honestly, it made me laugh inside. Most of these people probably have no idea what disco clubs were actually like when I was in my twenties.

I also noticed a few women dancing on a small raised platform near the dance floor. One Asian woman especially stood out. She was genuinely beautiful—there was no denying that. But I also noticed the way she looked at the men around her. She carried herself almost defensively. It was unfortunate in a way: she was there to be seen, but there seemed to be very little real communication between anyone. And yes, like nearly everyone else there, she spent plenty of time staring at the phone in her hand, even while standing on the raised platform.

Eventually, one person in our group ordered a large round of beers and mixed drinks. Then it was time to dance. About an hour later, most of the group was drunk while I continued drinking water. Oddly enough, they automatically put a lime in my water… which I absolutely hated.

To be honest, I felt a little sad while observing the crowd. Almost everyone there had clearly dressed up to look attractive, yet there seemed to be very little genuine human connection happening. People were simply absorbed in the pounding bass and the atmosphere surrounding it.

Toward the end of the night, I noticed one older man dancing by himself near the younger crowd. Something about him seemed suspicious to me, though I eventually pushed those thoughts aside.

There was also a smoking room along the back wall, which I found very strange. It appeared to have almost no ventilation at all. The moment you walked in, you were hit by a cloud of stagnant cigarette smoke hanging heavily in the air.

About three hours later, the crowd started to thin out. My personal guess was that the music simply was not very good, and there was very little variation in it. I was later told there were two other dance floors playing different styles of music, but they were not open tonight, so perhaps this particular room just was not hosting a very popular theme night.

Finally, we paid the bill and loaded everyone back into the car. Some people had clearly consumed far too much alcohol, and one or two could barely walk straight. Thankfully, the drive home was smooth and safe. Everyone made it back without problems, and I sincerely hope they drank some water before going to bed.

Thanks for reading. As for me, I will not be going back there. Today’s version of disco simply is not for me anymore.