The Institute Dance Debacle

This blogging thing has "introduced" me to a lot of talented, insightful, and funny bloggers/people.  One of them can be found at The Craig Report.  One of his recent posts, a musing on his daughter's first Church dance, which can be read here, made me laugh and it got me thinking about an experience I had at a Church dance twenty-four years ago.

I'd been off my two-year mission for about two weeks and I was going to make my way back into the real world, ready or not.  I foolishly determined I was ready to go to a dance.  A dance at the local Institute of Religion at ASU. 

To say that I was nervous as I drove to this dance would be an epic understatement.  The only physical contact I'd had with a female, any female in the last two years was a handshake.  The counsel that my mission president had given me in my final interview with him about girls was rattling, no, careening about in my head. 'Elder, be careful with the ladies.  Just be careful.  They are a lot more aggressive now.'  Something to that effect.  Making matters worse was the fact that my best friend was still on his mission and I'd be going to this dance solo.  No good was going to come from this.

So I get to the dance.  It was a typical early September night in the desert wasteland that is Arizona- murderously hot.  The dance was outside.  I make my way in and through the crowd, eagerly searching out a spot to observe the shenanigans.  Now remember, I've not danced in two years, and I was never much of a dancer to begin with.  Watching the crowd move to the latest from Madonna, or whoever it was, was overwhelming and terrifying at the same time.  I was certain everyone could tell I was a freshly returned dope off his mission.  And they probably could.  Anyway, as I scanned the crowd, I saw a girl I recognized from the dorms (long live Deseret Towers!) my freshman year.  Hallelujah!  I made my way over to her and we got reacquainted.  Figuring I knew her, she'd be the ideal way to ease my awkward entry back onto the dance floor, so I asked if her if she'd like to dance.  Here was her response, "Ooh, well, I'm here with my husband.  He's the DJ.  So I guess I shouldn't."  Yeah, I guess not.

Strike one.  Insert awkward silence here.  "Well, congratulations," I said and I decided I needed to get a drink.  Of water.  I needed none of the Hi-C/Tang/Fresca punch creation that was being served.  I tell myself that I can do this, that I can have a good time at the dance.  After my internal pep talk, I head back out to the crowd and out of nowhere, a girl asks me to dance.  It was a fast song and while a slow song would have been an easier first dance, I went for it.  It wasn't horrible.  We talked and it was completely awkward.  The next song was a slow song.  She asked me to dance that one too.  So I said yes.  And that's where things went horribly, awfully wrong.  As we were dancing, she says, 'Oh wait, do you have a brother named Rich?'  'Yes, yes I do.  How do you know him?'  "Oh from school.'  Now, my brother is four years younger than me.  He was just starting his senior year of high school at the time.  The first alarm bell started to go off in my head.  I say to her, assuming she's a freshman at ASU, 'Did you graduate last year?'  She hesitated before answering.  The alarm bell in my head has now elevated to a Def-Con Three situation.  'Um, no,' she says, half laughing, 'um, I'm a sophomore.'  Welcome, Def-Con Five!  A sophomore. In high school.  I'm twenty-one and she may not even be 16 yet.  The words of my mission president were screaming at me at this point.

Strike two and three simultaneously.  The dance for me was over at that moment.  DONE.  I told her it was nice to meet her.  And with that, I was out.  Do not pass go.  Go straight to my car.  It was time to rethink this whole Church dance thing.  Believe me, it was months before I went back to one.  Scarred me for life.