For those of you that don’t know I work at a bar called The Place in Boston. ( If you already feel bad for me, go here buy T-Shirts and help this blogger pay this bills). Every night I have the distinct nightmare pleasure of watching hordes of 20 somethings get stone drunk, while I stand by this controlled chaos making sure no one is throwing punches.
Yes, my mother would agree, excellent career choice, Rob. But the upside is it gives me plenty to blog about. I have to ask, when did it become par for the course to sneak up on a girl and just start humping her and then, gauging by reaction time/volatility discern whether she wants to dance with you?
Like any other American kid I grew up with many an after school special, plenty of Saved By The Bell, and plenty of polite “do you want to dance” moments. Apparently all these people missed the memo. It’s like the deleted scenes from “Night At The Roxbury” out there. These guys are covert, dance-floor-ninjas. I don’t know how else to describe it. I stand there, arms folded, while these hair-gel’d buffoons sneak up like Jaguars stalking their prey. It reads like Steve Irwin-Animal Planet.
Then, just as the unsuspecting female turns to her friend, back to the prowler, he pounces! BOOM! Pelvic thrust, pelvic thrust! The female, surprised by the attack, engages her friend in a look of misery and surprise–pleading with the friend to evaluate the potential suitor behind her. A simple knod or shake of the head of the friend is all it takes for the attacked female to engage or dismiss her attacker. More likely than not, the attacker will leave unfulfilled, but not before having thrusted and siezed his way into some poor girls internal “creepy” file.
When did the “Do you wanna dance?” get exchanged for something that borders on sexual assault? For shame, gentlmen. For shame…
The Male stands buy, stalking his prey, waiting to pounce....
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