Realising that I was now on foreign soil, I decided to first study these clubbers before I joined them, just like Jane Goodall did with the apes when she came to the startling conclusion that no one has any clue what they’re doing on the dance floor. I mean, there is music playing and there are bodies moving but, sadly, any relation between the two seems to lie outside the boundaries of known science.
Anyway, after 15 minutes of boredom, observational studies and copious amounts of Red Bull through a sippy cup, I decided to join the fray – do as the Romans do, I thought -and eased my way onto the dance floor.
I started out with the ‘yes man’ routine – you know, the one where your head moves wildly while the rest of your body seems to be made of stone? But after one too many creaking noises from what was my fully moving neck, I decided to progress to another school of dance evident that night, which I like to call ‘the roof is falling’!!! How do you do this mystifying move you ask? (Just ask, will you!!!) It’s simple – you raise your hand in the air (admit it, you just said ‘like you just don’t care’ in your head) and pretend the ceiling is falling, soon to crush you into a horrible squishy pulp if you don’t catch it (bonus points if you manage that look of abstract terror on your face).
But very soon that also became boring and I moved on to other styles such as ‘my feet are glued to the floor’, ‘ants in my pants’ and also the world-renowned ‘chicken dance’ (for further research, please refer to your nearest kindergarten) before finally settling into the highly-energetic ‘cockroach stomp’ (directions: lift one foot up bring it down as hard as possible; repeat with other foot).
The end result of the night was one sprained neck, one set of embarrassed friends, several broken toes and one geek banned from the nightclub for life!!!
So my final hypothesis? I think I’m better off killing zombies than dance moves, don’t you think?
