What A Prize

After several unsuccessful attempts at going out, the guys at work had started calling me Senior Center Queen due to the fact that I had fallen asleep each time rather than make it out to the club. This was frustrating the hell out of me, because it was honestly making me feel old as it was. The revamped nickname wasn’t helping at all.
Determination was about all that got me through that Thursday. Once again I was fighting the terribly comfy idea of just changing into my pajamas and going to bed for the night. I gave myself a stern talking to and headed out for the night. It was tough though. It had been a while since I had gone alone to this particular club, and that was undermining my determination. Once I had called all the support I could think of and ended up empty handed, I gave myself another stern talking to as I drove through the city toward my destination. I am not old. I haven’t gone dancing in forever. Who knew what the night held for me. Good stories always come out of any outing I march into alone.
Pulling into my usual parking lot, the only vehicles present were three large white trucks. These were sort of nondescript transportation that would hold equipment or some such for a larger scale performer. I remember pondering who might be in town or if the club I was going to be at that night was supposed to have something more than the usual. Being the sole occupants of this pay lot also made me worry as to where everyone else was, or if I wasn’t supposed to be parking there.
I didn’t notice the rather angry black guy until I stopped in the stall that I always seem to park in. He wasn’t dressed like a bum but he was gesturing wilding and practically shouting at no one in particular. I did my usual, ignore the person so they’ll go away trick, which wasn’t going to end up working for me. Taking the time to change into my boots and check my make-up, the guy continued to pace around by my car and yell. I was forced to deal with the guy when he finally came directly to my car and demanded I roll the window down. These are the moments I truly regret clubbing alone. Only cracking the window he proceeded to warn me that I couldn’t park there because “the guy” was going to come ticket me. I reassured him I planned on paying. He then gave me a rather loud lecture on the idea that I should find street parking because that was free. This went around several times as I assured him that I was just going to pay for my spot and everything was fine. All the while I wasn’t really sure what to make of this guy. Was he some crazy homeless person, an undercover spy for the pay lot, or just some overly concerned citizen with nothing better to do with his Thursday nights?
Acting all angry the man finally walked away and I finished stalling for time. Getting out of the car I sadly realized that he was heading toward the pay machine and yelling for me to come with him. “She’s gunna pay. She’s gunna pay. You such a big girl, com’mere and pay.” It was sort of strange that I wasn’t more bothered about the situation. All I remember feeling was slightly nervous, but seriously annoyed. I wanted the guy to just go away and let me get on with my night, but he was determined to show me how the machine worked. At one point I actually snapped at him that I knew what I was doing. This surprised him, and even though he stood right by me as I paid (and I wondered if it was so wise for me to flipping the contents of my pockets around in front of this guy) he wandered away muttering to himself as I headed back to my car with the ticket. I started muttering to myself after that as well. What a great way to start the night!
A stupid paranoid thought ran through my mind, which made me move my car to a spot right by the main street. My parents car had just been broken into right in front of the their apartment, what if this guy came back? It was the only freaking car in the lot besides those ominous blank white trucks. He’d just watched me show off my debit and credit cards, whose to say that he wouldn’t assume I had all sorts of nice things in my car since I was being so snobby about paying for the lot. As I got of out of my car and started toward the club, setting the alarm on my car several times for my own sanity, I started to feel bad that I had assumed that the guy would have to be some sort of thief just because he was acting all crazy. Better safe than sorry, but one shouldn’t be falling so easily into racial stereotyping.
The next surprise for me was that the barriers for directing the line were now set into a simple “v” shape which suggested that the club wasn’t expecting any sort of crowd that night. No massive amounts of people to direct in and out that door, so why have the line set up. Three bouncers stood around outside the door and were so involved in a “when to throw the guy out” discussion that the bouncer checking ID’s didn’t see me for several minutes. I was glad it was a warm night, but then I probably would have drawn attention to myself with my loud chattering of teeth had it been cold outside. I started to wonder if they were rehashing something that had happened moments before, or if this was just a tutorial for future reference. Listening in, I was sort of interested in what they all considered behavior that left a bouncer with no other alternative.
Sliding my ID back in my pocket after the bouncer did finally check it, I moved through the lobby quickly scanning for anyone I knew. The coat check girl seemed bored to death and even though I waved when she looked directly at me, there was no spark of recognition. That always leaves me feeling really silly. Why did I feel so self important at that moment that I would assume I could just walk in and wave at the woman? Moving on I headed straight for the music, wondering what sort of crowd I’d be dealing with that night.
It was still pretty sparse with only two little groups peppering the dance floor as I crossed it. The DJ I knew was spinning and I moved to one of the platforms to have a seat since I was a little insecure about just jumping in; the music wasn’t really moving me either. It was all hip-hop that night and it had been a while since I’d listened to that music or even danced to it. Looking around I saw banners for a popular local radio station known for its rap and hip-hop play list. This explained why the DJ was playing what I would consider a rougher selection of music than I had heard in a while. As frustrating as that was, I knew that he would play something sooner or later that would get me moving. I was far too determined to have a good time that night for anything to slow me down. If that meant sitting down till things got livelier then so be it.
I started watching two girls and two guys that were dancing in front of me. One of the guys kept grabbing one of the girls by the arm and dragging her over to dance with him. She’d stare at her friend as if in a cry for help and then proceed to freak all over the guy for a bit. She was an excellent dancer, and definitely had the sort of skills that would make any guy want to grab her and drag her his direction. I was just confused as to why she was sending such mixed signals. After a bit the girl would run back over to her friend and the two of them would do a little “girl on girl” action, which only led to the guy coming back to drag her away again. That always immediately annoys me. Why do girls feel the need to draw attention to them selves by dancing all nasty on their gal pals? Really it’s just a naughty circle. Guys love that sort of stuff and will totally pay attention to any girl that does it. Girls want to get some attention so she learns that the quickest way to do this is to dance all over her friend. BLECK!
A guy I know to be a regular at this club on Thursdays came and sat by me. We had danced together before but I neither found him attractive nor the style of dancer that meshed with me very well. He had always proven to be a soft-spoken person who did seem to have only the best intentions of gentleman. Asking to buy me a drink was followed by whether he could keep me company, which just led me to nodding and keeping my eyes out to the people dancing. I was already doing the escape route calculation, not that I needed to get away from him but so that I could walk away and do my own thing without it looking like a total rejection. My moment ironically came when a friend of his pulled him out to dance and I high tailed it to the bathroom because the choker I was wearing felt like it was in a serious knot.
All straightened out and my determination back to an all time high I returned to the dance floor. Pausing to see that more people had taken up residence on the floor, I moved to an empty spot and started to dance. I sort of love doing that: just sitting on the sidelines for a time, watching everyone else, and then suddenly reappear to jump right in the middle of things. As I danced I felt the parts of my back that had been tight and aching start to work them selves out, yet I still felt completely rusty. I didn’t feel like I was really moving as well as I usually did. Closing my eyes I continued with the pep talk in my head. No matter what I was there to enjoy dancing, not impress anyone.
As the night went on, I kept dancing and trying to ignore everyone else. Truth be told, I was still watching the crowd and feeling out of the loop. There were songs being played that I hadn’t heard, and since the radio station was hosting the night, I felt really terrible that I was closing my self so much to the new music that was always coming out. I love House but I love all kinds of music. I hated to think that I was being narrow-minded. I kept right on dancing making the best of what I could and trying to just listen. I also kept looking to the DJ to see what he was doing on his turntables, taking comfort in something I did understand. As much as I love watching DJ’s spin this club puts the DJ up a platform that reminds me of a birdcage suspended over a pool and fountain. You can’t really see him do anything, just bob his head.
Even with the songs that everyone seemed to know, the energy level was pretty low. There wasn’t any mingling really, just groups of people sticking to themselves. For some reason I spotted a couple guys that looked around them like they felt out of place. Girls were ignoring them, and they were taking repeated trips to the bar with no obvious intention of hitting the dance floor unless physically drug there. A part of me wanted to pull a “Jimmy” and go see if I could make a difference. The other part of me just wanted to be left alone and independent that night.
The MC that does his free style thing on Thursdays finally started his floorshow as it were, by trying to get some energy back in the crowd. This guy has talent, but by singing and talking over the music I usually just hate him by the end of the night. This MC has always just been one big distraction rather than an entertainer. Jumping up on to the platform that houses the speakers and is the focus for any girl who wants to strut her stuff above the crowd, the MC identified the radio station and then announced he had free stuff to give away that night. “For the first girl to jump up here and shake her thing I’ve got some free gifts to give away.” Normally I start toward the designated area and about fifty girls are already way ahead of me. Strangely on this particular night, no one moved. “Com’mon now ladies! I need just one of you to get up here and dance for me.” Again not a soul moves. By this time I’m totally excited and start marching through the crowd. As the MC pleads one more time for someone (any one) I hop up there and start doing my thing. The DJ gave me this funny look of “of course it would be you” and went back to his turntables. I didn’t put on much of a show before the MC came over and thanked me several times for helping him out. Suddenly I was a little deflated that it wasn’t my amazing style that he appreciated but the singular fact I was the only one brave enough. Taking my free stuff I jumped down again, deciding that I’d look stupid if I stayed up there after receiving my prize. I’d only seem like a show-off. Either way I was pretty stoked that I had won a bunch of free stuff from the radio station, and that I’d have proof for the boys at work that Clubbing Queen was back in the saddle again.
Moving through the crowd, after stashing my winnings under my coat in the corner of the room, it’s always gratifying to catch the eyes of people who had ignored you earlier. Putting yourself as the focal point, it’s like a chance to thumb your nose at them. I have the same talent up there as I do on the floor; they just take notice because I could do it in front of a full dance floor when no one else would.
I took to the sidelines to watch the rest of the mayhem as the MC continued to hand out stuff from the radio station with different tasks in order to receive it. After announcing that the next girl had to show a sexy tattoo to his friend that was standing next to him, several girls including Miss Mixed-Signals jumped up to rub her ass all over the MC. From the look on his face he was of course pleased. Yet as she continued and a couple friends jumped in I rolled my eyes. Women go on and on about being degraded and men treating them like objects. It’s behavior like that, that keeps men from thinking any different. What were they hoping to achieve? The MC was not with the radio station, nor would they really get any sort of recognition out of catching this guy’s attention. Who knew what these girls were thinking? The MC eventually shoved all the girls aside to get some breathing room and I had to laugh. It was like the movie “Night at the Roxbury”, where the two brothers bounce a girl back and forth between them like a human ping-pong ball, except this was the gender reverse. Too much of a good thing can be bad.
The rest of the night was still pretty low energy. I kept watching either the DJ or looking out toward the lobby for a familiar face. This guy at the bar kept staring me down and I was a little worried he would get the wrong impression. I was bored, not on the hunt. When the DJ’s switched places I felt hands on my arm as I was dancing. The grip was so familiar in nature that I basically expected to see my friend since he had given up the turntables to a guy from the radio station. The person who was grabbing me turned out to be the guy from the bar. With both hands on my lower arm he yanked me off the dance floor and closer to him. Asking my name he told me that we were going to have a glass of Champaign. I shook my head and moved back toward the dance floor. Again I was pulled back as he argued that it wasn’t far and that I was going to join him for a glass of Champaign. Now I was locked in a strange sort of tug-of-war. I would say no and he would pull me farther in the direction he wanted me to go. When he started trying to negotiate for where we would have that glass I started to honestly worry. There wasn’t a bouncer in sight and I had never been in a situation where I knew I was physically outgunned before. At last I got mad that he was manhandling me and trying to impress me with the type of alcohol he was drinking. I freed my arm from his death grip and said I hated Champaign and that I would rather keep dancing. Talk about confused. This guy was so surprised that his line hadn’t gotten him anywhere. UGGGH!
Feeling safer on the dance floor, I moved farther in but stood by watching for a bit. I was glad to see that the two guys I had spotted from earlier were out on the floor at last. The one guy seemed to be doing better at talking and dancing with girls. His wingman on the other hand just seemed more like a chaperone. Keeping to himself he danced alone with no wandering eyes for any female around him. I figured he was very happy in a relationship and was just out to keep an eye on his boy.
I did eventually get caught in the act of watching them. The Ladies Man was doing this silly dance and Wingman was laughing at him when he caught me laughing too. Wingman proceeded to become very embarrassed and quickly returned to his drink that was off to the side. I felt bad for embarrassing him, I was only enjoying the fact that the two of them were starting to loosen up. (Wingman was also cute) He finally walked up to me and said that his friend was funny but somewhat of a dork and that he’d caught me laughing at them. I could tell that Wingman had relaxed about the whole thing so I felt better, and was glad that I got to at least talk to the guy.
Wingman headed out to the lobby and the guy who was sitting behind me tapped my shoulder. After the last situation I turned with the attitude of being ready for a fight. The guy merely smiled at me. “You need to tell that guy to stop talking to you. He’s ruining your flow and I was over here watching you dance.” Pure flattery and a pick up line, but for some reason that shit always makes me all proud and happy. Moving back to the dance floor I put on a show for this guy. It was fun to have a reason to show off for a moment. When two girls started dancing on each other in front of the table, I wasn’t heart broken at all. I was happy to be back in the groove and having fun dancing.
Wingman returned with drinks for his boy and a glass of water for me. It was a terribly sweet gesture and I was really grateful for the water itself. Lover boy was all confused as to who I was and why his Wingman had gotten me a drink. I smiled mysteriously as Wingman tried to explain the situation. I found it ironic that earlier I had told a friend of mine that I never except drinks from guys, and if it’s water it has to be in an unopened container. I was breaking my own rules as I sucked down the water as fast as I could; yet after watching the body language of the two guys all night, I pretty much felt I would be okay.
I ran in to the two of them one last time as I headed out for the night. Stopping to say good night, they both seemed to be well on their way to hangovers in the morning but were still smiling and laughing. Having a good time is the point and I was happy that I shared a moment with them, even if it had been at the expense of Lover boy.
Out to my car, the nagging worry that something might have happened to it while I was away was relieved. Climbing in and starting the car, it was then that I took stock of the stuff the MC had handed me. A baseball hat, a white tank top, an invitation for two to wait in line for the sneak preview of the new Jet Li movie, and along with the usual bumper stickers there was an ad for the new Pepsi Lime; not bad, but nothing great. I was just really happy I had been the first one to get up on that platform, for once.
Driving home I was really happy with my night. I won some free stuff, I got complimented on my dancing by several guys, even if one of them had accosted me, and I managed to get a glass of water because I shared a funny moment with a cute guy and his friend. I was relaxed and the aches in my back were gone. All in all, a very successful night.