Some stories are meant to be told, while others are miraculously rescued from the cutting room floor and somehow make it to publication.
I’ll retort, you decide.
The following should serve as a stern warning of how not to behave for those who, once like me, have never come in contact with the modern dance club scene.
Some time ago, I was asked by my roommate to accompany him on an excursion to a nightclub. It was some sort of social establishment where there would be dancing and the chance to mingle with young ladies.
I had heard rumors of such places, but never actually been to that sort of establishment.
I am a Baptist, and my previous comprehension of dancing was what happened in epic war movies, when the heroic group of unattached officers would waltz the night away at a big pre-war ball.
I knew that I had no knowledge of the intricate steps and moves required of waltzing, but my roommate assured me that I should not worry, that the dancing would come naturally.
Upon entering the establishment, I was stunned.
The atmosphere was nothing like I had expected, and the large room was dark. And the people? They weren’t waltzing, as I had thought, but instead using their most intimate parts to do the most suggestive things I had ever seen.
What I didn’t understand is why people weren’t dancing face to face.
I thought the whole introductory process to be somewhat uncomfortable. What if I didn’t want to introduce myself to a young lady by walking up behind her and using my body as a hammer to get her attention?
A little while after I had become accustomed to the loud, driving music, I was approached by a young female.
A little surprised, I listened to her inquiry. She asked me if I knew any of the gentlemen standing near me. I explained to her that, no, I did not personally know any of them, but I was sure they were fine upstanding gentlemen or possible suitors.
She looked at me in disbelief, and walked away. Apparently “knowing” people is part of an invisible social hierarchy at these establishments.
My roommate was getting restless and decided to meander onto the dance floor. I thought I had no choice but to follow him.
There I was, amidst a sea of gyrating posteriors, standing completely still. It didn’t take long for the situation to become awkward.
My roommate had found someone to dance with, and that left me, well, alone.
To make matters worse, I found myself standing directly behind a gentleman in the middle of some sort of courtship. Since there was absolutely no room on the dance floor, I believe I unknowingly invaded his personal space.
He must have thought I had frequented the wrong type of establishment, but I tried to explain to him that my roommate was dancing, and I had followed him on the dance floor not knowing what else to do.
But, over the extremely loud music I was able to comprehend only a couple of words he said. However, I could not figure out what his comments had to do with our situation.
So in response, I told him that my mother was doing just fine, and then I endeavored to move away.
We left soon after my unfortunate encounter, and I couldn’t help but remorsefully conclude that this social establishment was no “dance club” at all.
But, then I remembered that many times, groups will give themselves a name based on an image of what they hope to become, like the Feminist Majority Leadership Alliance or British Intelligence Service.
I decided that, in the future, I would spend my time studying and becoming educated, and not frequenting those detestable “clubs.

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