The Midnight Rodeo

I was decked out with a bright choral Polo shirt, Banana Republic straight-legged khakis, traditional athletic gray New Balance tennis shoes, Ray Ban wanna-be’s on my head just above my hairline and just past the little spike I so delicately, but naturally, molded my bangs into. Looking like this, if I attended Bayside High School, A.C. Slater would forget who Zach Morris was and quickly don me with the nickname “Preppy” as we fought for the love of Kelly Kapowski. If GQ had a magazine for frat guys, I would be on the cover and the issue would be equivalent to that of a Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition. Its headline would read “Sexiest Frat Daddies, Ever!” And, anywhere I was walking it was in strut to Top Gun’s theme song “Danger Zone” playing in the background. To sum it up with three words…I was money.

This is what I felt like last Friday night when a few girls here in San Antonio decided to give me a night out on the town. They discovered I had never been to, or much less heard of, a dance club called “Midnight Rodeo.” This place is evidently pretty popular and the dancing there is filmed to put on cable TV from time to time. According to the girls, we had to go there. No and, if’s, or but’s about it. We arrive, coincidently, around midnight. Upon entering, my theme music, which had been playing all night up to this point, came to a music-record screeching halt. I wore the wrong costume! Apparently I missed the memo about making sure to bring a cowboy costume with me to San Antonio. The girls told me it was them who had to worry about the right clothes to wear; the guys could wear anything. Well, if anything means any kind of cowboy hat, any kind of Wranglers, any kind of boots, and any kind of starched button-up long sleeve shirt then that would have been one thing. But it is another to leave out the last part completely.

I suddenly became aware of everyone and everything. I frickin’ had sunglasses on my head…at midnight! My choral Polo felt like a bright orange construction road cone flashing “Warning! Look at Me! Warning!” Instead of darker blue jeans on I had white khakis and shabby old tennis shoes instead of boots! I didn’t get even close to one form of attire right. However, I had one thing going for me and that was the dance floor. If I could just get out there with one of the girls and dance, maybe I could redeem myself.

This was no ordinary dance floor as it is with the nightclubs in a college town. This was the real deal. It was an oval shaped dance floor with a huge bar in the middle and smaller bars on the outskirts. Also, lining the inside and outside border of the dance floor, were small stools and a sitting bar running its entire length for people to spectate. Naturally I gravitated to the dance floor and watched the people dance with the awe and wonderment of a kid in the zoo for the first time. It reminded me a lot of a roller skating rink: people dancing at different speeds, sliding their feet along the floor, and going in circles (or ovals, if you will). I told myself, “Self, there’s no way you’re gonna learn by just settin’ and watchin’. You gotta get out there.” So, nervous and all I grab the first girl I see and start trying to do what other people are doing. I know how to two step and I know swing, maybe if I cross the two it will half-way look like I know what I am doing out here, bright orange shirted and all. The weirdest thing at first was having to actually go somewhere while dancing. But, after one lap around the ring, I was Texas Two-steppin’ with the best of ‘em.

I learned the Cotton Eye Joe. Well, as much of it that was possible. An older, drunk lady that decided to teach me by yanking me to the floor was dancing and kicking all over the place and yelling “Cotton Eye Joe” a whole half beat off the song. I played along and it was fun. All my friends laughed. Soon after that, a swing-type song come on, no country flare to it at all. All the cowboys and cowgirls slowly traipsed off the floor and I grabbed the girl who just recently applied to be a Spur’s dancer and drug her on to the floor to see what she could do. I told her not to worry about not knowing how to dance to this, just do what I tell you, when I tell you. Well, there was no need for showing and telling anything. She seemed naturally able already. There were many people gathered near us watching as I swung her here and there and the strange flare of arms twisting every which way: seeming to be a chaotic order in it all. Then we ended it with the double twist lean back thing in which she seemed to know precisely when to lean and where I was going to catch her. After this, we would start over, only faster every time.

That leads me to Weird Thing Numero Dos. It seemed any girl I danced with knew what to do. I start moving and she was right in step, didn’t matter if I knew her or not, seemed like each and every one of ‘em was made for dancing with. The only time we stumbled was when I forgot to count the rhythm in my head…left, left, right…and tripped us both up. Forgetting the rhythm came about for several reasons: I noticed people’s eyes following my shirt, accidentally dancing into another couple, or gawking at the girl from Houston whose mid-calf pleated white skirt would put me into a trance every time I spun her around. That was actually kind of a turning point in the night, as for dancing goes. I danced with her for like 5 songs straight. We would be talking about college, Houston, U of H girls soccer team…left, left, right…spin…trance from skirt
flare…stumble…”sorry.” I was getting so embarrassed something had to change what with the keeping of the rhythm, traveling in long ovals, watching out for other people, conversation, and skirt trancing. So, I flew everything out the window, pulled her up close and started listening and dancing to the music.

The night ended well and I avoided from getting in any fights what with my loud shirt and all. Almost getting in one when I sarcastically told one of the cowboys I met there that maybe I needed to pop my collar so I could stand out as much as possible. His face changed and threateningly told me that HE was one of those guys that went around folding down collars. “Oh, right.” So, next time I go out, I’m going to make sure I have got boots and a hat on for protective measures.