After my encounter with Joseph, I sat down at a table and began to contemplate on the very concept of a Dance Club at Springs. A club where people go dancing? Unconventional. Under the lighting of a classroom? Unimaginative. Perhaps they would dance on chairs and tables? Understandable. Or by the lake, with the swans? Unfathomable. Perhaps they will not play Africa by Toto? Unavoidable. Maybe they would consume an excessive amount of psychedelics and engage in Woodstock-style activities? Too good to be true. After some very intellectual brain work, I reached the conclusion that Dance Club is going to be the experience of a lifetime. I must attend a club meeting as soon as I get a chance.

I proceeded to hit up my contact—who will be unnamed—within the Math Gang, an organized pseudo-mathematics-hobbyist group whose true nature remains to be uncovered. But I digress. As my contact connected me with the head of the Dance Club, Anne Maison, I had the honor to join Dance Club’s private GroupMe, aptly named “Dance Club.” I declared my intentions to attend a club meeting and attempted to appear humorous by saying, “nothing creepy at all.”

From there, I learned that the club usually meets after school on Tuesdays and Thursdays. And so, on one Thursday after school, I strolled into the Flex Lab with Jin Cho, expecting greatness. But no, the meeting was canceled because only 4 people showed up. 

Being intellectual and wise, I knew what this was: it was Fortuna that was playing with my expectations, telling me that in order to enjoy the better things in life, one must be patient. So I waited patiently for the next meeting. 

It was a Tuesday when I got a new message from the Dance Club GroupMe. “Meeting now,” it said. I knew my moment had come, it was my moment to experience Dance Club. Barely able to contain my excitement, I opened the door to Flex Lab. Club members had moved all the tables and chairs into a corner, allowing them a sizable space to move around, brilliant idea. Then I saw members of Dance Club stretching. A roomful of girls stretching. In leggings. My urge to join them in their pre-dance ceremony faded away, and I felt Fortuna imposing the character of a pervert onto me. I was the weirdo in the room. I was the one that could never fit in, and that one forever out of place. 

The world had just bullied me. Bathed in discomfort and the Female Gaze, I managed to take a picture as proof of my attendance. I left the room immediately after, without looking like I was fleeing. I knew I had to leave that greatness behind so that my pristine reputation as an intellectual could remain untarnished. 

And that, my friends, is my story with the Dance Club. Thanks, Joseph. Perhaps I should find a club that is more appropriate for me next time.