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"Mind if we dance
wif yo dates?" The scene kept flashing through my brain after
walking in the door and hearing the salsa record on the juke skip,
the giant screech, and the ensuing silence. We stood like stunned
possums staring into headlights, and decided that we had come too
far now to turn around. We sheepishly took up our position in the
corner of the cock-eyed bar and debated the merits and drawbacks of
being the whitest white people ever. After waiting for a man in a
white mesh shirt with a giant gold Jesus head (complete with the crown
of thorns) dangling around his neck to grab his drink and stagger
back into the crowd, I decided to order us a few caipirinhas and try
to blend. My horrendous pronunciation aside, I received our drinks
and brought them back to our little group. Despite sticking out like
sore, dorky thumbs amongst the completely Latino crowd, nobody even
looked our direction--including the bartender for the most part. It
was as if we were invisible. We weren't treated rudely, mind you,
just treated as if the corner where we stood was a dimension in and
of itself. It was weird being part of a large group but living completely
outside of the experience. Anyway, the drinks were decent, the crowd
was certainly lively, the music was danceable (some of it excruciatingly
so), and the bartender was easy in the eyes. I thought at first it
was some sign that we were being tagged as losers when she stuck napkins
in our beer bottles, but then I saw others carrying drinks away with
the same treatment. I'm not sure if it was a statement in favor of
the lumber industry, against trees, or just some bizarre South American
ritual to which I will never be a party. All this and we
got to leave with our ladies and a nice buzz. [MF]
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