One time, I was in line at Berghain, almost near the front. I'd just graduated medical school to be a paramedic (my dream since high school), so I was pretty happy. I'd never been in a German club up to that point, so I was told that this was definitely the place to be. I'd heard about the notoriously picky door staff, but figured I'd try my luck anyway. Up to about 3rd place in line, I got a good look at Sven. He was pretty nonchalant, a bit too serious, just telling this drunk girl that she couldn't go inside. She started to complain, and Sven argued for a minute with her. Suddenly, the guy stops, eyes go wide, and grabs his chest. I see him go down to the ground coughing, and think to myself, "Holy shit... Is Sven having a heart attack?" Without thinking, I go up and tell everybody that I'm a doctor (a dream of every medical student ever) and I lay Sven out on his back. I perform CPR like a pro; I'd just graduated from medical school, so my motions were perfect. I pumped his chest maybe half a minute before he coughed and regained consciousness. He stuttered, asking what happened, and I explained it all to him. He thanked me for helping him. But he STILL SAID NO TO ME, JESUS CHRIST HOW FUCKING IMPOSSIBLE IS IT TO GET INTO BERGHAIN.