Season’s greetings, friends! If there’s one thing I love about this time of year, it’s the stories. Memories tend to flood back in a veritable tsunami around Christmas. Well, I’m here to share a story with you. In keeping with my blog, it is a dance story, a horror story at that. Doesn’t seem really cheery to tell you one of my dance horror stories during Christmas, does it? Well, like any bad memory, it’s actually become darkly humorous with time. I say darkly because this story is not laughingly humorous. It’s one of those incidences in life that make you wonder, “What were they thinking?!” It is the ridiculousness of the behaviors exhibited in this story that makes me laugh in disbelief. Before I begin, I just wanted to say that I’ve forgiven all the trouble-makers in this tale. I only rehash it because, well, I felt like it.
Ahem, the fiasco began my senior year of high school, spring semester. I took Dance I as an elective, just for fun. It was a very popular class, and a lot of the boys took it because it was an easy A. I had nothing against that reasoning. I was just happy that we girls were actually the minority gender-wise. Yep, there were more boys than girls in that class. Well, I was happy until I found out the huge maturity discrepancy. They were loud and disruptive, always interrupting our teacher.. Their focus wasn’t the best either. I guess boys will be boys, eh? The highlight of the year was the exhibition each dance class performed in a show that had two performances. For my class, we always had partner numbers given the nice gender balance. We did this song for our performance, which I am entirely sick of now. It had elements of Latin, Hip-Hop, break-dance, and Modern. My partner was one of the football players. He was twice my height and probably triple my weight, but he tended to throw me on his shoulder like it was the easiest thing in the world for our lift at the end, and that scared the heck out of me. Hence, why I am now afraid of lifts. I don’t care how light I am or how strong you are, you can’t just toss me around like I don’t have a fight-or-flight reaction. All in all, I’d say it was the fun class, aside from the disrespectful shenanigans. That is, until our dance teacher left for maternity leave for her first child.
We had a very sweet, talented lady for our substitute. For the sake of the story and her anonymity, she will remain nameless. The boys practically had a field day, taking advantage of their strength in numbers. Unfortunately, the substitute was outnumbered, and the disruptions increased. A couple of days before our performance with the other dance classes, the boys took it too far. Frankly, I still don’t understand what was up that day. I blame the sheer amount of testosterone and their lack of respect. We were rehearsing and putting the final touches on our routine when all the boys, except one wise gentleman started howling about how the girls’ locker room was better than the boys’ locker room. No, I’m not joking. It got to the point where all the boys decided to use their growing strength to physically force our sub to see their locker room. This, I felt was extremely, disrespectful. Don’t worry. There was no malice involved here nor was she physically hurt. In fact, judging from their demeanor as they did this, it was one big joke to them, as if she were one of the guys. This will not do. Still, they should have known better than to treat one in authority like this. Secondly, she is a woman. A man should never force a woman to do anything physically. I know that sentence sounds wrong, but it is true. What makes humans different from common beasts is our speech. Had they honestly wanted to show her the locker room, which I doubt, could they not have just asked her? Anyway, it really frustrated her, and I saw her crying when I went to retrieve something I had left in the room after class had ended.
All of the boys, except for the one wise gentlemen who chose not to get involved, were suspended. They’re lucky they weren’t pressed with any charges to be perfectly blunt, especially since she wasn’t associated with the school. Those among them that were football players weren’t allowed to participate for the rest of the year, which wasn’t very harsh considering we had so little left of the year. That also meant that almost all of them would be absent for both days of our performance. Long story short, almost all the girls had to learn all new choreography the day before the first performance. Yeah, it really sucked. At that point, it didn’t matter to me if I messed up during the show. In fact, I screwed up during both shows. Did I care? Not a whit. In this respect, I count myself fortunate that I’ve only been dancing for a grand total of five years because this is the only horror story concerning dance I have to tell.