Note to self: mambo is always a mistake
Never go to Zouk on a Wednesday. It doesn’t matter who you’re with: Mambo is DISGUSTING. A platoon of strange boys will mysteriously appear immediately behind you. They will encircle you with military precision. Your friends and the strange boys will proceed to ignore each other steadfastly for several hours. YOU WILL FIND THIS REPRESSED TENSION TOECURLINGLY WEIRD. Your friends will find this totally normal. Then, you tentatively try to plumb the motivations of these strange boys (“do you know each other?”). They say they are in a platoon. They immediately follow their reply up with unsolicited yes-ma’am vow of undying stickiness “WE WILL FOLLOW YOU WHERE[VER] YOU WANT TO GO”. You are horrified. You will want to run away and talk to somebody about how weird Mambo-clubbers are. But because of a misplaced loyalty to the people you’re there with, you stay. (They probably don’t want to hear it anyway.)
The music will be REALLY BAD. The hand motions will be RELENTLESSLY UNINSPIRED AND CHEESY. There will be no actual dancing. Or, you know, FUN. As a compromise, you run to the bar. You suck dry yet another G&T hoping the alcohol will unlock some heretofore undiscovered capacity for enjoying bad music, or at the very least the ignoring or company of bobbing boys (mutually exclusive you would think, but interchangeable here in these badlands). Your friends have discovered you at the bar. After a smug schoolmate shouts a few rounds, everyone troops back to the dance floor. (Where, of course, the “dancing” consists exclusively of stiffly parroted hand movements.) Everyone troops back to the dance floor. You realize, belatedly, that alcohol is not magic. It is, at least for you, but a multiplier of whatever you’re feeling at the moment. Mambo is fucking horrible. Slowly you become aware that yet another ring of strange boys is inexorably in the course of formation. The realization of entrapment sets in and you feel vaguely hysterical. You want to either start a fight or randomly snog one of these assholes just for gratuitous shock value. You overcome the impulse (good old Singaporean frigidity! though maybe one more drink would have sufficed). PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER, WOMAN. You take yourself outside, and miraculously come upon a fellow Person Who Lives In The East and together you blessedly ride a cab home. NEVER AGAIN.
NB. events may have been compressed and reordered. blame semi-automatism and artistic licence
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trippylongstocking a dit :
I appreciate the use of NB
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aubergines a publié ce billet
