Day 282
This story isn't funny. At least it wasn't funny at the time but there was a valuable lesson learned at the end which I still remember to this day.
I was down in Charleston, S.C., in the middle of the bible belt. This seemed a bit off to me since they have so many bars serving alcohol. You might be thinking they just served a watered down version of the real stuff. This couldn't be further from the truth. In South Carolina, in the 1980's, bar had to serve liquor in pre-measured bottles, affectionately known as "airline bottles" obviously because that's how they serve liquor on an airliner.
I can honestly say, I have never seen a bartender (that I didn't know personally) who would pour the same amount of booze in my drink, as an airline bottle holds. There were also more than a few "private clubs" that served beer and liquor 23 hours a day. They had to close for one hour to clean up.
This story takes place in one such private club on a Friday night.
First let me tell you that I had a rule about dancing, brought on by the number of times I had asked a woman to dance, to be told she doesn't dance, only to walk away and ask some other guy to dance seconds later. So my rule was simple; if a woman asks me to dance, and I am able to do so, I don't refuse. I felt this made me courteous.
I can't remember the name of the place, something like Shambala or Shenandoah, it doesn't really matter to the story. It was a small bar filled with the odor of spilled beer and a cigarette haze in the air. The DJ played the same songs over and over, and the same people were on the dance floor most of the time.
My friend John and I were about to call it a night and head for home, as soon as he used the men's room. As I was waiting, a woman the size of Paul Bunyan came up to me and asked me to dance. She was broad shouldered and even more so around a waist that narrowed into slim hips. I'm not exaggerating here, this woman looked like she could fell a tree in one swing. A big ol' farm girl with pig tails.
At first I was going to say no thanks, we were just about to leave. But I thought of the times I had heard that one too, and told her I had time for one dance. She did pretty well at first, but I could tell she wasn't used to dancing, or drinking, or both. But she didn't step on my feet, so I was happy. The song finished and I thanked her for the dance.
As I started to walk away, the music started again and she grabbed my wrists. I tried to shake loose but she had a grip like a vice. I explained to her again that my friend was leaving and he was driving. If he left without me, I wouldn't have a ride home. It didn't faze her. She just kept dancing and told me I didn't have to leave. I just stood there, as she rocked back and forth, off in her own little world. I didn't want to cause a scene, but I was losing my patience.
I tried again to make her understand, I needed to leave. But she would have none of it. When she noticed I wasn't dancing, an ugly look came over her face and she started to bend my arms back. A white hot pain shot from my wrists to my elbows, I thought she was going to break one or both of my arms. I was starting to panic. How was I going to get out of this? I had never hit a woman before but I had never been in a situation like this before either. I thought if I could get one hand free I could hit her with a beer bottle or something. But she wasn't letting go.
About this time people were starting to notice us. I looked over at John but he was too busy laughing to be of any help. Just when I was considering head butting her in the face to make her let me go, two women came to my rescue. Neither one could have weighed more than one hundred ten but each one took an arm and began telling her to let me go. Reluctantly, she loosened her grip and released my wrists, then wandered back over to the bar and her beer.
The two girls were friends of hers and they looked at me apologetically. Strangely, when I looked into their eyes, I saw sympathy. As I turned to leave I nodded my thanks, my manly pride wouldn't let me speak. I walked to the door as fast as my dignity would allow, but once I hit the door, I left my dignity behind and ran for my ride.
John and I would talk and laugh about that dance for weeks. But that night, when I was alone, all I could think of was the two girls and the sympathetic look in their eyes. As though they had been through the same humiliation. It didn't take long to imagine either of them being harassed by some drunk guy who believed himself to be Gods own gift to women. Someone who wouldn't take no for an answer. Someone who had demoralized and objectified them, and quite possibly caused them physical discomfort.
So what did I take away from this? If I ask a woman to dance and she says no, I don't get upset, I just move on. And if a girl twice my size asks me to dance, I'll just be sure to know which way the nearest exit is and how fast I can get there. My pride be damned.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
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