Why do I hate going to clubs? It’s not the dancing; I love dancing, though I can imagine it’s a little scary to witness. I do like to dress up if I can find the right thing to wear; and I like the excuse to put on copious amounts of unnecessary makeup.
What I don’t like about clubs are the lurkers.
Lurkers are everywhere, but they are the worst at a club. All equality is negligible at a club. Let’s start with the security check. They pat down the men and let the women through. “Why don’t you pat down the women?” I ask the security guard. “Just because I’m a woman I can’t sneak a weapon into a club or I wouldn’t want to?” “I would lose my job, honey”, he responds. “Why don’t you hire women security guards then?” “That’s a good question.”
It’s $15 for ‘girls’, $20 for guys. Maybe it’s reparation for the fact that a woman makes .77 cents for every dollar a man makes? Probably not.
Once in the club, I feel like I must be on guard at all times. Unless of course I’m in the mood to be groped by strangers. I’ll never understand the individual who thinks that because a woman’s ass exists in his general vicinity, he most certainly can grab it or perhaps rub his crotch against it. I call these individuals the ‘lurkers’. Maybe if someone could invent an invisible repelling force field that goes around my ass when I’m in a club, I would have a more pleasant experience.
I’ve tried the strategy of dancing with friends to avoid the lurkers. This does not work because one half of each of our bodies is still exposed to the world, and a lurker will undoubtedly fill in that space. The only way to completely avoid the situation is to sandwich yourself in between friends, which I frequently do, but then my friends are still left out in the open.
I noticed this particular bald lurker. He was making his way through my group, and I knew he would notice my ass existing sooner or later. It’s hard to not notice. He was getting close. I had to make quick moves if I wanted to avoid ass-crotch contact. My first exist strategy was to escape into the VIP area. The security guard barely glanced in my direction, but stopped all men trying to get in to see if they had a wristband. I’m sure this security guard was also trying to make up for my lack of equality in the world by allowing me privilege at the club, and not at all thinking that my body could be used to make men spend more money.
A dude approaches. He has a glow stick. He is not a lurker. Just a dude. I can tell based on his body language and what his eyes are saying.
“Do you want a drink? It’s 400 dollars a bottle”
“Are you fucking serious?”
“Yea. This is the VIP section. Do you have a wristband?”
He rolls up his sleeve to show me his wristband. I roll up my sleeve to show him my hair tie.
“I’m Barbara Streisand”, I explain.
I am bored. This rich dude is boring me. I miss my friends. I take his glow stick; bop him on the head, and turn around to make my exit back into the common people area.
The bald lurker is not in my group anymore, but he is in the group of girls next to me, so I can freely dance like a weirdo with my friends for a while. Out of the corner of my eye I see him glancing in my direction. There is nothing I want less in this world than to have this particular stranger’s crotch up against me. I just want to dance without anyone trying to touch me. I wish I could put a wall between him and my ass.
That’s it. The wall.
My group was dancing very close to the back wall. If I could dance with my ass against the wall I wouldn’t have to worry about anyone being able to grab it! I go over and grind on that wall like I’ve never grinded on another person before. Nobody bothered me during my self-wall dance session. The wall didn’t try to grope me or buy me drinks or sleep with me. I could just dance how I wanted. The wall and I had a fucking blast.
Until we invent a repellent force field for my ass; or until lurkers stop feeling they are entitled to grab anything they see, I will always consider myself to be more of a bar girl. I definitely prefer dancing on my own.