Not Dancing in a Latino Club
Lately, I had the wonderful experience of going to a club without dancing, smoking, or drinking twice. Basically, I was invited to a Latino club in Shanghai by two different groups of my friends. Since I am at a certain point in my life where I avoid dancing by any means, accepting these invitations was by far one of the most absurd decisions I have made in the last couple of months, and oh boy, I made a lot of them; something that needs its own story for another day.
While the first time was not that eventful, as I spent a good time chatting with my lovely friends who were not that much in the mood for dancing as well, the second time was more interesting and enjoyable. We came to the club around 10 pm, as entries after 11 had to pay, and as fellow unemployed international students, we are not the biggest fans of paying for stuff. The company was very diverse, and larger than the previous occasion. Again, I decided to just sit on the terrace and, when others were not around, enjoy reading my book. I felt like that meme where everyone is dancing, and the other guy is standing in the corner wondering what is happening, with the difference that I was completely conscious of what was happening. What I loved about this sober and motionless incident was the fact that I could simply watch people be in their most comfortable version. They drink, dance, flirt, and make out with no fear about what might happen tomorrow. I could observe how people interact when they are interested in the other, how they use their body and (hopefully) brain to express their interest and enjoy every moment.
I told my friend there that at some moments, I feel like a creator, a storyteller, or perhaps God itself (in a non-blasphemous manner), in this environment. I know who is trying to flirt with whom, who is trying to impress whom, and who is sitting in the corner being unhappy about the fact that he/she is lonely. Sadly, I could not sympathize with that person, as I was definitely enjoying my role as the observer of the night. The funny thing about it is the amount of useless conversations, and how they start, progress, and end, was hilarious. Due to my amazing human skills, I could easily guess which conversations would go nowhere and which ones had a chance. The funniest by far was when a Chinese guy started flirting with a Venezuelan girl, and her friends (4 extremely muscular men) started introducing themselves as her brothers and telling him that the girl's father is "El Chapo," and there is a chance that the father will stab him if he harms his daughter. The Chinese was quite scared, probably having zero clue about the reality of the "El Chapo" thing, but he ended up talking to the girl for the next thirty minutes, and they left the club together, so I hope they will live together in happiness and that no stabbing from El Chapo will ruin their romantic experience.
That is the good thing about being the observer in the club. You can write the story of the potential couples in a way that does not include any casual hookup with bad sex, or ghosting the morning after; everyone will have the great pleasure of starting a great relationship with the love of their life after one time dancing in a Latino club. Meanwhile, I, the lucky observer, who is traumatized by the amount of people making out next to him, decided not to finish my book and listen to all these conversations from people who barely cared about his presence. I can not nag about it, as I had a delightful time watching all these dramas and failed or successful attempts unfolding in real time. Yet, the bittersweet experience of not dancing in a Latino club will be one of the more memorable and less painful memories of the last two months of not writing here.