I don’t know about you, but lately I’ve noticed that going out dancing has become increasingly bothersome. Maybe it’s the lower threshold of tolerance that comes with age and wisdom. Maybe it’s just age. Or maybe, it’s these four people who never fail to turn up in da club:
The space-invader – I know the dancefloor is crowded. I understand it is not reasonable to draw an imaginary circle around myself and call it my ‘personal space’ when there is barely enough room to wave your hands in the air like you don’t care. But there is a limit to how much uninvited bodily contact is considered acceptable. Especially when you’re hindering my dance moves and barging into my girl gang. I get grumpy if I have to body-roll and eye-roll simultaneously – it’s too much coordination for me. So be warned, I have unusually pointy elbows and I’m not afraid to use them.
The drink-slosher – If you struggle to hold a drink while busting a move, please could you sip Bacardi like it’s your birthday away from the dancefloor? Regardless of whether you believe it is half full or half empty, your glass contains liquid that is sloshing all over me while you attempt to get jiggy wit your pals. I like rum, but not down my back, or in my shoes. I find it not only uncomfortable but also wasteful. So for the love of Will Smith, slosh somewhere else.
The hair-flicker – Your tousled locks are so magnificently bouncy that I have a serious case of hair-envy. Yes, I love your hair, but not so much that I want strands of it in my drink, or in my mouth. Please save your slow-motion, Pantene shampoo commercial-esque head gyration for when you have at least a 3-foot radius to operate within. (Tip: you won’t find this by the bar or on the dancefloor.) PS. how on earth are your waves still perfect after 4 hours of flicking + drink-dipping?
The selfie/wefie queen – If there is no documented, immediately-shared evidence of your night out, did it really happen? It’s understandable that you want to photograph your gorgeous selves, but do you really need twenty-three thousand shots of every possible permutation of solo/duo/trio/group from every available angle? Enjoy the moment, people, it is passing us by! Also, your iPhone triple camera flash is interrupting my vibe.
So there you have it, the four people who can turn a night out into a soul-searching exercise with one key question: Why am I here? And yet, I persist. Most of the time, it’s a fun night out despite all evidence (whinging) to the contrary. On one occasion I even found myself next to a Sir Mix-a-Lot soulmate who (also) knew all the words to Baby Got Back and was happy to temporarily share her personal space for an impromptu performance. I didn’t take a photo, though, so I can’t prove it.
Still, if you have a favourite place that plays a little Blackstreet and a lot of soul, let me know. Against all odds, I’ll be on the dancefloor. In a waterproof onesie, elbows at the ready.
©2019 Seetha Nambiar Dodd