Night of the Living Dead

The last time my friend Renzo and I went out on the town, we’d had a pretty good time. As I said before, dancing was where we met and what we can always fall back on for a good time. The man is an amazing dancer and someone I love to go out and kick it with. I just wish the Army would stop sending him to other states and countries. It really puts a cramp on our friendship.
Even though we had talked about taking his motorcycle, I knew it was a bad idea. The nights were getting colder and I didn’t want to be dragging gear into the club. Even if we made it through the night without issues, the ride home would leave me completely frozen. I remember not regretting that we had changed our minds when he rolled up to my apartment in his little convertible Toyota Celica. Just the jog from my door to the car was cold enough to make me thankful for two more wheels and some doors. I’ve also got this fascination with his car (long story), so any time I ride in it I feel darn special.
Heading out to the city for the night we had our usual chit chat about what was going on in our lives. We had been hanging out more as of late: going for motorcycle rides, watching movies, just generally chillin’. As compared to the last time we’d gone out dancing, we were way more involved each other’s lives. No awkwardness to get past. It was a whole lot easier to look forward to the night that way, instead of just surviving the next five minutes.
It was a Thursday night that we were trying to launch into. I had told him about my good times from the past months and looked forward to dragging him with me this time. A new club and a new scene, he wanted to get back into the groove again. Dealing with an ending marriage and being away for so long, the man was ready to be a functioning member of the twenty-something world. One stop I knew we had to make was Club Medusa, the DJ friend of mine that was the Entertainment Guru over there had been the resident DJ down south at the club we had been residents at ourselves.
My official destination though was The Last Supper Club. It was Open House night which meant no cover and some damn fine House music would be flying off the turntables as fast as they could put it on. Earlier in the week I had heard DJ Hyperfunk spinning on c98.5 FM and he had totally promoted himself for that coming Thursday. It had been a while since I had danced to one of his sets and I had totally missed him the last time I went out with Patrick . I hoped that Renzo would at least stick it out for a little while with me and then we’d head out to where ever else in order to make him happy. His penchant for Hip Hop in order to go dancing was our only source of contention. He’d put up with my House music for a little while but I knew full well that he’d only be patient for so long.
Parking on the street, along the back side of the triangular garage that I’m always so hot to leave my car in, the two of us jogged across the street and made our way down the block to Last Supper Club. There seemed to be a line already in front of Trinity, I filed that knowledge away for when Renzo got his restless itch for Hip Hop. Knowing that we could just head around the corner to achieve that particular goal was better than aimlessly driving through the city trying to brainstorm. Onward to the club, we moved straight through the ID check and into the club without much of a hesitation. I still wish that I could make friends with the guy at the door. I’m sure it’ll never happen, but I always get my hopes up every time he checks my ID rather speedily and gives me this half smile of recognition. I’m sure my face registers as someone that is there often. I’m no Rock Star at this place by any means. All it takes is just one weird moment that happens by chance. Then again that chance is exponentially increased by being the girl I use to be: a dancer that is out on the town at every available opportunity. Also required is for me to be walking through the door making idle chit chat every freakin’ night. Not so anymore, and I waltz into the club trying to put that thought behind me.
Once past the velvet curtain that divides the club from the outside world, I was a little disappointed with the looks of the room. That was partly my fault for digging Renzo out so early in the evening. For some reason I had been eager to get a start on the dancing festivities. Then again I was use to things going wrong and one of us running behind. Not so this night. Both of us were looking good and ready to party on time. Looking over my shoulder I caught Renzo’s gaze as he assessed the club. Never a big clubber in the city, any place he had gone had been through me at one point or another. Renzo had turned into the ultimate bar sort of fellow since he had been back. Watching the game and having a beer with some friends is fun, don’t get me wrong. In fact I miss it now that I’m no longer in college. But I’ve always seen Renzo as a dancer and it seemed like such a waste for him to be sitting around while music was playing.
It was pretty obvious that he took the empty room as an early sign of trouble. I tried to smile encouragingly and moved toward the bar with confidence. My plan was to make him think that the lack of human presence was all apart of my usual routine. Besides parking him in front of the bar could distract him enough to get us through to the busier part of the night. A crowded dance floor was something I could put money on, it just didn’t happen for another hour or two. Again I was wondering what the heck I was thinking when I started us out so early. Well for now we had free parking to show for my early start. That didn’t really count for much once inside the club.
His usual beer in his hand, Renzo and I stood looking around the bar feeling the same sort of dismay. It really was empty. The ride up had us all hyped up to start doing something. Drinking seemed like a step back from where we had been at when we walked through the door. So there we stood wishfully staring around the room like this would make people appear. Usually quite good to me should I get brave enough to ask, I had no inclination to drink at all that night. I was totally focused on dancing. I hadn’t heard from Jimmy in forever and I was determined to do some serious dancing while I was out with someone who understood. Renzo was a great influence on the floor whether partnered up or the two of us were doing our thing separately; watching his passion in dancing was the reflection of how I felt as I moved.
Dancing was the last thing happening at that moment. There were a total of ten people other than us on the main floor and three of them were bartenders. Settling down at a table that gave us front row seats to the dance floor, Renzo seemed a little too focused on his Corona. I ended up staring at the floor, following the swirling lights and hoping the DJ would set up soon. We weren’t even talking; all conversation had stopped as both of us seemed like strangers sitting at the same table.
Thankfully it wasn’t too long before the DJ did set up. I had been hoping that it would be Hyperfunk so that I could catch him before Renzo got bored. No such luck, but from the first record that the guy dropped I could tell it would be a good night. Yet as things got into full swing and I did my nervous little edge from bouncing in my seat to standing by the table, still no dancing was happening. It was like an invisible rope of self consciousness had tied me to the table. As much as I would move forward trying to get myself started I would just feel the tug back toward sitting down. There was a pretty consistent trickle of people coming through the door yet it was all defusing into the seating areas and pooling around the bar. Still no life to be seen on the floor.
Some girls went out on the floor to dance and Renzo and I resorted back to our usual catty pastime that revolved around judging other people’s talent. It was more than obvious that I wanted to go dance, and for the first time Renzo started verbally shoving my ass in that direction. Normally it was every man for him self. “Don’t want to dance? It’s your loss and I’ll make it look better.” As I watched the other people move about the floor with a lot less coordination than I knew I had, I was really struggling. “Get your butt out there! Who cares what those girls think, they can’t dance at all. Go show them how it’s done. It’s about doing what you love anyway. Get out there already!” I was so surprised that he was being that encouraging, I had to jump right up and head to the center of the floor.
There’s always this precarious moment when the people that were dancing, part around me or move farther away than they already were. My terrible self image automatically tells me that I look like a rubber chicken and I should run to the bathroom immediately to hide. Where I would normally take that advice to its fullest extent, for some reason dancing has this kill switch that stops me a second prior to fleeing. Something makes me stand my ground and continue on as I was without so much as a care in the world. The dance floor can really be like sweet little scene in a forest glen. I have this terrible habit of stomping through to the middle and scaring off all the timid little animals. But if I stay where I am for long enough, the wildlife will eventually return.
When Renzo jumped out there and joined me I was a happy kid. I knew that we could start that dance floor without a problem. Most girls, once they see how well he dances, start flocking out in droves to get his attention. I didn’t care for what reason they came out as long as they danced for a DJ that was doing a great job. Opening slots always just suck. You get the freedom to play what you want since there’s no fear of scaring people off the floor. Then again it’s tough when you’re spinning stuff that would have them tearing it up normally but it’s just too early in the night for there to either be people or people drunk enough to tear it up. Sad waste of DJ talent, if you ask me.
Taking a break and standing by the half wall that separates the dance floor from a seating area, Renzo and I watched the floor we had managed to start up. There was a respectable population out there and more people were flowing in from the outside world. Looking over I noticed a crew of people walk in the door like rock stars and I was excited to see them all. DJ Omar had been very involved in the scene I had once called home down south. Suffering the same way all DJ’s had in that particular area, his heart was always in the House music, but to survive it was Hip Hop the people wanted to hear. An awesome dancer I had seen him a million times on the floor at a House night that a bunch of locals had gotten together to try to create. Nothing had ever come of it, but I had taken Jimmy with me several times.
My clearest memory was formally meeting DJ Omar for the first time and he stated that he recognized me from way back as a great supporter on the dance floor, but that he knew Jimmy had to be from up north. When we asked why, his response blew me away. “He’s wearing black shoes. No one around here wears shoes like that.” Something as simple as wearing black shoes and dressing nice to go out dancing made us stick out. What a ghetto world that scene had become. Jerseys and baseball caps were dressing up. Getting shot was just apart of the cover charge. Damn I’m glad I moved.
Beside Omar was a girl that had been with him for as long as I can remember. I don’t believe they’ve ever been an item, just someone close to the group and a great dancer in her own right. I’ve never learned her name but she’s always recognized me. Omar would mention that a great DJ would be in town and she would be the one to fill me on the details, making sure that I got a flyer. The rest I knew to be promoters for their label and other hangers on. The welcome I received from the crew, as they passed by, was nothing more than a lukewarm acknowledgement. Watching them move through the room, I was reminded that I was not quite the active member of the scene as I use to be. On the opposite side I was happy to know that I was still recognizable.
Renzo and I stayed for a while longer, but it was obvious that Hyperfunk wasn’t going to be spinning until well after midnight. I nodded to Renzo’s “lets leave” gesture and we grabbed our coats to head out. I was almost sad to leave. On a normal basis I would have been perfectly happy to just spend the rest of the night right there. Just another testament toward my “clubbing alone” stand point. No one but your own pleasures to indulge.
Back in the car we jumped and headed across town to the next club of choice. The parking lot that I had gotten use to stowing my car for free was looking totally disserted, as was the rest of the area. There was no life at the door and I knew that most of the cars had to be overflowing from the million little places just one street up. I paid for parking in order to calm Renzo’s fears about leaving his baby unattended to, and hurried down the block to the club. In a way I understood. A friend of mine had had his car towed out of that lot without any warning. That was the last thing I wanted to deal with.
The bouncer at the door checked our ID’s and mumbled something about there being no cover charge. I was excited that we were getting a heck of deal. Once through the door I understood what the real story was.
It had been several months since the last time I had gone to Medusa with James. Things did not look like it was business as usual. The only part lit was the entrance. From the large Greek soldier statue: the coat check, the first bar, the entire seating area up to the entrance into the dance floor area was dark, closed down and abandoned. Moving through the darkened sections that I was so use to seeing massive bodies crammed into was a little like being in a horror movie. Where had all the people gone? What did they all know that we didn’t? The music pumping from the dance floor seemed more that awesome to me. What the heck was wrong with this city?
In the booth stood my friend and the speakers were blasting with what I considered to be great fortune. The musical trends on the radio as of late had been including great songs from the 70’s remixed. Who could ask for more? Songs I loved as a kid, redone with house beats. The DJ was doing an entire set of this stuff!
The population was absolutely sparse and there was just such an overwhelming feeling of abandonment and loneliness. I’m not sure if that was because I was so use to seeing the room filled to fire capacity by midnight, or if it really was just so empty that it was impossible to feel content. A little over ten people in this room and the clock was striking the magical hour, which meant that pretty much guaranteed this was the best this crowd was going to get. Any sense of hope was missing.
The idea of a drink was vetoed so we just sat off to the side and watched the other people move from the dance floor to the bar. It was obvious that the majority of group was a part of some party, probably a birthday. They would gather up in a big circle on the dance floor and close themselves off to the rest of the world. I was getting frustrated with Renzo sitting and looking bored with the set that I felt was absolutely the greatest thing I’d heard in a while. The two of us danced for a bit, but I knew it wasn’t going to last.
Dancing on that floor, it wasn’t hard to picture yourself as the only person in the club. Looking up to the balconies that have always had Go-Go Dancers in them, I remembered a time when all I had ever wanted was to be included in their ranks. Medusa had always been the place that had dancers that really danced. None of that sashaying thing that drives me nuts. Pacing around in boots too tall to walk in does not count as dancing for a crowd. The more I looked around the more memories came to mind. I had been dancing on that floor since January of ’03 when I officially met the DJ that was spinning at present. Janai and I had been inseparable back then, living every moment with too little sleep. Sadness always washes over me when I remember that nothing lasts.
When the birthday party group baled out leaving four people and a bartender, as much as I hated to leave, I followed Renzo dutifully down the hall and back out to the car. It was disappointing to see my friend spinning music that he loved for such a terrible turn out and, for my own selfishness, that I had paid ten freakin’ dollars for parking when we had spent less than an hour at Medusa.
Heading back to Trinity I knew there would be a crowd and Hip Hop. My research from earlier in the night had paid off. Parking along the street that ran right by the club, it was nice to know that no more cash would be wasted in case we decided to call it a night. I hate how paid parking works. The whole concept is probably one of the greatest achievements of Capitalism. Take a commodity that people can’t get elsewhere and make them pay a lot for it. There’s no sense of competition that would keep prices reasonable. After giving in and paying whatever the fee is for parking, not even necessarily close, there’s this terrible sense of justification I always have to have. If I paid for the whole damn night, then my car is going to sit in that spot all damn night which is completely unreasonable. There have been a few times that I stayed out longer than I had intended just because I had scraped together enough money for the parking and wanted to feel like I really used what I paid for. On the other hand for about two years, when Janai moved to the city, I learned how little most pay lots are even checked. I straight up stopped paying for parking. When I did get a ticket, the cost was still less than if I had been paying for parking that whole time. I was still ahead. Most companies have gotten so ripped off now that a car will be towed pretty much without any hesitation. That’s the absolute last thing I want to deal with. Go dancing and come out to an empty parking lot; that whole drama would end up a whole lot more pricey in the long run. So needless to say I’ve gone back to being as honest of a citizen as I can afford.
Walking through the door, we were faced with yet another scene that I was so use to seeing crowded and yet there were only a handful of people. The people that had been lined up earlier had apparently all made an early night of it. The dance floor had some established dancers but it was still pretty thin. Having been there several times to meet Patrick I was starting to recognize regulars. One guy in particular that I had described before as being a sort of skater looking guy that just rocked out to Hip Hop, was there again that night.
After all the back and forth from club to club and being disappointed for the third time that night I was feeling both awkward and pretty down about the situation. Here I was trying to show Renzo a good time and we’d ended up in three failures. As I followed him to stand on the sidelines of the dance floor I just felt so incredibly distant from him. I knew he wasn’t having the night he had hoped for and I was upset that I didn’t exactly know the weeknight scene as well as I thought I had. On the other hand I could have stayed at Last Supper and had been perfectly content for all of eternity. The same could have gone for Club Medusa, I would have felt pretty exposed dancing there all night but maybe I would have gotten the chance to chat with my DJ friend. The music would have been enough to hold me there. Now there I was at Trinity and unhappy for too many silly reasons.
To add to my night, several girls who I’m sure had had plenty to drink came trooping down the ramp and onto the dance floor. What is it about girls that rub all over each other to a song and claim that’s dancing? It’s always pissed me off and I continue to ponder whether it’s female jealousy over the amount of immediate male attention that’s achieved by such actions or if it’s female disapproval. I hate how girls think they have to act all slutty to get a guy interested. Being naughty is different. You can grind on a guy without promising anything. It’s just kinda naughty. When you’re dry humping another girl on the dance floor that’s pretty much an advertisement of your intentions. As I watch these girls straddling each other along with several other interesting moves that would be better off showcased with Swing dancing, I got pretty grouchy. Whether it had caught Renzo’s attention it didn’t really matter, the whole scene was like a car accident. How could you not stare?
I also noticed he was checking the room for viable candidates, more than he usually did. Renzo has this very slick way of just casting his eyes about the room and taking in all the information. After a decision is made he simply walks over and starts dancing or talking to the girl. That’s how we met and over the years I had watched him in action, I knew his tactics. Respectful of our friendship I started to step away from him and go out to dance without him. I didn’t want to be a “cock block” on top of everything else that had happened that night.
For some reason as I started to dance I ended up catching that skater guy’s attention. He started making his way toward me and was being persistent. He seemed like such a nice guy and for the last few weeks I had been watching him get turned down by girls. Then again I didn’t really feel like dancing with him either so I wasn’t going to be much better in the long run. At this point I didn’t have the energy to humor him. Renzo was on the floor doing what he does best, and yet I was paying more attention to where the skater guy was in relation to me so that I didn’t give him any encouragement. In the end it didn’t matter. Pulling the usual flanking maneuver, he was dancing up on me from behind before I could evade. He wasn’t a terrible dancer, but still I wasn’t interested. Renzo was laughing at me for several moments until he saw my pleading eyes. I’ve always prided myself on being able to just bluntly handle that sort of situation. This time I didn’t want to be a total jerk.
Reaching out his hand, Renzo took mine and tried to twirl me away. Like a total dork I miss read the direction he was trying to turn me and bashed straight into him. Trying to recover my dignity I ducked under his arm and did my best to dance off like I had meant to do that. All I got out of it was feeling totally retarded that I had made that kind of dance mistake and still looked like I was running away from the other guy.
Skater guy came back again while I was standing along the wall. He showered me with compliments on what great dancer I was and how he had seen me the last few times. “I’m not a great dancer I know, but I want to get better and by dancing with you I could learn.” Wow I felt like shit. It was probably a line, but every time in the past I had seen him, he danced with a passion I admired and was not easily faked. What the motivation was behind the dancing I didn’t know. Maybe all he wanted was to get laid, that was none of my concern. I thanked him and played out with the tired/resting vibe that I always tell guys.
In all honesty I was done for the night. I wasn’t feeling the music and I wasn’t feeling the crowd. Renzo seemed to be warming up and yet winding down. When the object of his attentions didn’t really respond to his charm, we headed out for the night.
The drive back I just felt so down about the whole situation. I apologized left and right for not having a better idea what we would be facing when we headed out so early. Even though he placated me, I could still feel his disappointment as well. A hug goodbye and the slow walk to my door, I knew that it would be a while before we went dancing again. And so it goes, the Clubbing Queen couldn’t win them all.