The setting is a nightclub, a trendy spot where everyone gets their dance on. Every club-goer is in a separate world on a floor filled with dance steps, moves and fist pumping. It usually looks like this: I LIKE TO DANCE.
The time is around midnight when the club is reaching the peak of the night. Kate, Tyler and I waited in line for 15 minutes with a cluster of night-club aficionados. Not too bad. We just wanted to get out for a night of fun after a long, long day of school and studying. We deserved a night off to just drink, dance and be merry. We were enticed by an article in TIME-OUT MAGAZINE featuring a club named “SOUND,” a MUST for all clubbing fanatics.
We walked into the dark place, decorated with orange couches to the left in front of an orange, white and black tiled bar. The dance floor was huge, and dancers even graced the mini-stage front and center. It felt like a modernized version of a club from Austin Powers.
“LET’S CHECK OUT THE FLOOR AND DANCE FOR A BIT,” Tyler tried to scream to Kate and me over the loud, heart shattering beats of the synthesized bass.
We swayed side to side, twirled around, and fought our way to the middle. The middle area was crowded, people were sweaty, and the only dancing you could do was bouncing up and down. It was completely uncomfortable for anyone with personal space issues, and the alarming smell of body odor turned Kate, Tyler and me around towards the trendy-lit bar across the room and away from the smelly group of people.
“Make that two!” Tyler added while the bartender was making drinks.
“Hmmmmm…” I thought to myself, “I’m not in a Gin mood. Maybe I’ll try something different.”
Kate and Tyler grabbed their drinks, faced the dance floor and took a few steps forward in order to people watch while I took my time deciding which drink to try. Right as I was opening my mouth to place my order…
“Well, HELLO!” a guy said with a thick Scottish accent coming from the shadows to the side of the bar.
“Um, hi,” I replied taken off guard by his Scottish dialect.
“Where ya FROM!?” the Scot excitedly asked at about 10 times louder than a normal speaking volume level.
“New York City,” I said trying to be short to give him the idea that I wanted to order a drink.
“I’M FROM SCOTLAND! I wanna DANCE with ya!” the Scot demanded as he cornered me. He proceeded to back away from me doing a ridiculous jig to show his skills.
He stopped, came right up to my face and yelled, “AREN’T MY MOOOOVVES DANGEROUS!?”
I stood strikingly still, looked around trying to find my friends to save me, but they were no where to be found. The guy just kept doing his jig, which moved to his hips and upper body as he looked for my approval and wonderment after each ‘move.’
“I know whatcha thinkin’….. that I’M DEAD SEXY!!!”
Oh. My. God.
“I want to MAKE OUT with ya!” The Scot screamed as he shoved his haggis flavored tongue down my throat. He backed away and returned to his jig, picking up his shirt to show me his hairy chest.
“I want to GO HOME with ya,” as he approached me and went in for seconds. After he was done, he turned around and returned to his jig with movements being led by his bottom.
I looked around for my friends to save me. I looked around for ANYONE to save me. The Scottish guy was stealing everyone’s attention within a 10 foot radius. His friends pulled him away telling him that it was time to go home, and I spotted my friends crying from hysterical laughter at what they had just witnessed.
Some random guy came up from the dance floor and stopped me with, “Wow. The entire dance floor stopped just to witness that whole thing.”