The line is long, the smoke is thick, the floor is sticky, the music is deafening — the people are over 45.

Spending a night on the town with my parents, who are mostly reserved and aren’t really drinkers, a visit to a jazz showcase followed by a piano bar sounded languid.

I was wrong.

The musicians were amazing, but the people were an even bigger attraction to marvel at.

I have seen middle-aged men in leather pants and mullet wigs rock out to Poison, a taciturn man in a teller line at the bank urinate and a police officer stop and pull a three foot machete from the pants of a man walking down the street, but never have I seen anything quite like this in Chicago.

Middle-aged mothers and grandmothers sported short skirts and dresses, high shoes and low cut tops with the occasional glitter explosion.

Older men wore heavy cologne had styling products in their hair, which ranged in style from MacGyver to receding.

But their wardrobe was less disturbing than their behavior.

If I squinted, I could have sworn I was on the dance floor at Marty’s, Stu’s or Stix.

Though the location, age group and music was different, the scene was the same.

People danced, swayed; and at times, grinded to the music while belting out song lyrics.

As couples kissed for periods of time without discretion, drunks stumbled and spilled.

There were the occasional average adults and even college-aged groups blended into the mix, but I could not avert my eyes from the serendipitous bunch.

Having been tightly cherishing what I have envisioned as the last epoch of crazy college nights my final year at Eastern, I was surprised and compelled to observe an older crowd prove my theory wrong.

Graduates are suppose to enter the real world where drinks are served in actual glasses, not plastic cups, your shoes do not stick to the floor and couples in the crowded bar if huddled against do not have their tongues down each others’ throats.

In fact, there is room to move in the still smoke filled bar and you are not surrounded by greek-lettered T-shirts nor blinded by glittered tops.

You are the definition of an adult. People still let loose, but more tastefully.

I acknowledged that late nights can continue, but imagined that as the years after graduation progress, night life, or at least behavior of people my age, would grow tame.

Graduating doesn’t mean the end all of the partying realm, but subdued, I thought.

However, this weekend has conveyed the opposite reality to me as I stood stuck to the floor while next to me a Rick Springfield look alike played tonsil hockey with his chic.

I had seen it all or at least more than I cared to see in one night, but somehow managed to witness one more less than opportune demonstration.

The line outside to enter continued to accumulate and people waited in the cold for others to exit.

When I finally coerced my parents to depart, as I pushed through the exit irritated by the hold up to realize the doorway delay for exiters was created by a couple older than my grandparents who were in a tongue tied lip lock.

This may be my final year to witness drunken rowdiness and excitement at Eastern, but it is certainly not the end, whether amusing or disturbing.