By Ryan Henson
So if you have been walking around campus this past week you may have noticed the various posters displaying the glowing faces of several or your classmates soliciting your vote for Homecoming King or Queen. Some may feel we are regressing by reviving a high school tradition, but I feel like I have returned to a warm, familiar womb. As a guy, my memory of high school dances can be summed up in two words: chicks and booze. I remember when those few glorious nights came about how the boys and I would suit up, knock back some brewskies, and compare corsage sizes. Bobby’s was always the biggest. You’re my boy, Bobby!
We’d all head off to pick up our dates. We’d race the first block, collars popped, screaming, “get some” at the top of our lungs and high-fiving between our civics with exhaust tips. Just thinking about it makes me smile; we were such ballers back then. So I’d roll up to Cindy’s (or whoever girl’s it happened to be), house around 45 minutes late and I knew her dad was pissed because he was standing there looking out the window with his arms crossed. So I’d walk up, collar still popped because I got to let him know I was fresh, and knock loudly. Her dad opened up and he was wearing these big frame geeks glasses, I almost lost it right there! He said something about being on time and responsibility but I wasn’t listening.
So Cindy, (I think there was one named Cindy), came down the stairs and she looked good. She had this skin-tight, fluorescent green dress on that matched my tie. She had put on extra mascara just how I like it; at least four layers. I was worried she might try to look classy and reserved like all those nerdy girls, but she just looked hot as hell. So we hopped in my car and head over to the gym.
We met up with the boys and their girls in the parking lot and knocked back some more Natty Ice. I love that stuff so much, if I’d been around in the time of my lord and saviour Jesus Christ I might have told him to turn water into Natty Ice instead. The girls did tequila shots off the hood of Buster’s Impala.
So by this point I’m nursing a healthy buzz, and the night is still young. The school security guards were breathalyzing at the door so we all got bummed. Just as we got to the front of the line though, low and behold Dan “the Corn Gobbler” Johnson, broke a bottle on his face so we snuck past while they tried to get him to stop bleeding.
Its dark and I can already hear that bass thumping. I tell Cindy to go dance with her girlfriends or whatever, I’ll be right here. My boy Vance and I head to the bathroom for last minute Axeing, and make sure my hair is good to go.
We hit the dance floor and right off the bat Cindy and I were getting nasty. I know everyone was jealous, even Mr. Schinkter cause he kept staring! The boys were around and we all raised our fists together, the girls were grinding and loving it. We lost the jackets and loosen ed the ties, and our collars were never not popped. I don’t remember anything after Vance and Bobby started doing the hump-skittle with Britney and Candy.
This is just a taste of what high school dances were like for me. Needless to say I had the best time, but most of you probably can’t relate to that level of awesomeness. I just hope this weekend can hold up to my long tradition of winning at every school dance the boys and I have ever been to.