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“Do you have any molly?” the girl with the bandana around her face shouted to me as a dubstep remix of “What Do You Mean?” roared over the half-empty dance floor. It was a Sunday and I was at the club.
“No, sorry, I have work tomorrow,” I responded to the masked girl.
I knew at that moment, I was in over my head.
Only two hours before, I was watching HGTV in my living room enjoying a cup of tea when I got the text, “Club tonight, I’ll pick you up in an hour.” Knowing that I had a relatively easy week coming up, I accepted, albeit begrudgingly.
I’m not one for clubs– the obnoxious music, the abundance of hard drugs — it’s just not my scene. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve been to clubs, but I thought this occasion could be different. I saw it as a chance to let loose and indulge, so when we pulled up, I knew it was time to bust out my best moves to any Sunday night sucker that challenged me on the dance floor.
“Dude, where is everyone?” My friend Brett asked as we made it past the bouncer.
“Give it time, it’s only 11:00,” I shouted back. Standing before us was a crowd of 40-50 people, ready to drink and dance the night away. Or so I thought.
I ordered two beers from the bartender and handed one to my buddy and one for myself. Onto the dance floor where within a minute, a group of five girls approached us and began dancing with us; however, something was off about these girls. Maybe it was the weed symbol painted on their face or the lack of drinks, but something was off. “How old are you guys?” I asked to one of the girls in the group.
“18,” she shouted back with a smile. Before I could utter another word, she turned around and began grinding on me. After what seemed like an eternity, I excused myself and found my original crew.
“Brett, you didn’t tell me this was eighteen-and-over club! We’re the only ones drinking here.”
“I thought you knew, man,” He shouted back. “Let’s find some more chicks to dance with!” With that, he made his way back into the fray, leaving me to my thoughts. After about five minutes of talking with another friend I came with, the mysterious bandana girl approached me. Thick, young, and looking for a wild night. “Do you have any molly?”
“No, I work tomorrow. Sorry to disappoint.”
“Do you know where I can get some?” She responded back.
“No I don’t but if I find some, I’ll keep you posted,” I said back as sarcastically as possible. With that, she got the hint and disappeared into the abyss of the strobe lights, resuming her quest for molly.
This wasn’t what I wanted to be doing. I should be at home and asleep — I had to work in seven hours. But, as Miracle On Ice head coach Herb Brooks once said, “Great moments are born from great opportunity.” This was my opportunity to feel young again and play fast and loose with the rules society puts on us.
After another beer, I decided I’d go with the flow and live and let live. To these girls, I was a god. I returned to the dance floor with a renewed sense of purpose. I found the eighteen-year-old grinder. “Glad I found you, I wanna dance some more,” she whispered in my ear..
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