The people I'm with eventually head to the dance floor, but they know better than to ask me as I really hate dancing and have made this known around the office on several occasions. I stand at the bar, thinking how I shouldn’t be too hard on myself and it’s really OK to be here at this club on a Friday night against my will because I’m aware of how terrible it is. A lot of people don’t know what an awful place it is and are enjoying themselves unironically.
Almost immediately, I’m approached by a very good-looking girl with no immediate signs of mental impairment. After a minute or two of perfectly pleasant conversation, she asks me if I want to dance.
“Of course I do! I love dancing!” I say. I have no idea what is happening, and I am half flattered and half paranoid that one of the office workers has offered to buy the girl a drink in return for humiliating me.
After a minute or two, a song that she apparently really likes starts playing, and she starts dancing more energetically and in a kind of obnoxious way as it encroaches on other people’s dance space. I start to get uncomfortable as it looks like I’m endorsing her actions by the mere fact that I’m dancing near her. As the song ends, she starts staggering about and lurches to the side of the dance floor, with me clumsily trying to hold her up without it looking like molestation. Suddenly I’m in sole charge of a strange, semi-conscious girl. It’s terrifying.
I ask her where her friends are and she tells me that they had all left her and she hates them and she’s being a little bit sick on herself and I’m trying to keep her from passing out. I can't remember her name. I try 'Cathy' without any success.
People are stopping dancing because there's now a definite incident happening and they're looking at me as if to say, “Why don’t you take better care of your girlfriend?” Oh come on, I think, it must be obvious this girl is way too good looking for me, but then I worry even more because that might further suggest to people that it’s likely I have drugged her because she’s so out of my league.
It’s hard to convey with my body language to the general public that I’m not really associated with this girl while at the same time not leaving her to black out. I want to tell her to relax for a second while I explain to everybody watching exactly what the situation is. After what seems like about an hour, a female security guard arrives and takes her to the bathroom.
“Look, she’s not with me, I’m just an innocent bystander,” I say. The bouncer looks dubious but says she’s in good hands and they go into the bathroom and I take the chance to hotfoot it out of the bar without saying goodbye to my work colleagues, unsure even if they’d seen any of what happened.
I get the night bus home, and the two drunk young men behind me are cracking nuts in their mouths and throwing the shells at the back of my head. I obviously can’t say anything as these are the kind of confrontations that end in someone getting knifed. And by someone I mean, me, obviously.