Hey guys! I'm Jimmy. I dance sometimes on the dance floor (of course) at The Baltimore House. Some crazy-ish happens to me pretty much every time my shoes hit that sweet hardwood surface. Did I mention that I also like to share? Well, let me share with you some of my experiences.
Picture it: Wednesday night at BH, post open-mic. clean up, we're being infiltrated by Club Absinthe runoff. I'm working door with Ryan as is usually the case on busy nights. All of a sudden, to my pleasant surprise, I hear the muffled laughter of Scary Spice from the other side of the closed Parlour door. I can't control my legs: they lift me from my chair and send me flying towards the dance floor. I hit it hard and start movin' and groovin' to the beat, singing along with that fantastic fivesome. As I start losing myself in Spice World, I'm brought back to reality by three seemingly lovely ladies. They join me- impressed and pleased by the fact that I know the words to this unmistakeable hit song from the 90s. We start hitting it off. I find myself locking eyes with each and every one of them, mirroring my moves to theirs' and singing in perfect sync with them and the song.
And then it happened.
A strange odour hit my nasal cavity. Beer- check. Sweat- check. Eggs- check. Someone farted. Before I have time to react, one of the girls ("leopard-shirt girl" I'll call her) turns her head towards me with a look of pure disgust on her face. She starts waving her right hand in front of her face and lets out an insincere "eeeeewww." Her friends follow suit. Then one of them says "Let's get OUT of hyerrrr."
I am left alone on the floor in a cloud of ass. I had been framed.
Before I let myself look even more pathetic, I hastily slip out of the stinky haze, through the parlour door, and sit my innocent ass back down on my chair in the lobby. At the end of the night, as the guilty trio exited the venue, they avoided eye contact with their victim. It was probably for the best.
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