Tell us about a time when you felt out of place.
I generally feel out of place in most social settings.
I guess I’ve become quite introverted in a social setting, and yet, am usually somewhat extroverted around those who make me feel comfortable. As a result I feel as though I have lost the art of conversation.
Yup, that’s pretty much me – socially retarded and weird.
Most social settings make me feel awkward and uncomfortable – like going to a party where there’s going to be a lot of people that I don’t know. I, generally, would prefer to just not go simply because I know that I struggle to talk to other people about, well, anything. If I can’t find something in common with them, then I just want to flee and get out of their field of vision.
You know when you go to a party and there’s that one person sitting in the corner by themselves, or the one who’s off talking to the animals? That’s me. I’m the one who stands out. The one who you can tell just doesn’t belong. I would be the one turning up to some event and being asked if I’m lost.
A classic example of this would be the night my housemates decided we were all going to a
strip joint Gentlemen’s Club.
One of my female housemates (at the time) used to work for a company that owned a handful of different clubs in the city, a couple of nightclubs, a couple of bars, and a couple of strip joints (and I think they even owned a brothel…!?) Anyway, she used to do marketing for two of the nighclubs this company owned, and so we were always getting free passes and drink cards just on the off-chance we might actually want to go to one of them.
For the record, neither of them interested me in the slightest. They were both straight clubs, and one of those was a rave club. And I’m talking R-A-V-E-!-!-! As in, neon plastic spikes, furry leg warmer things, reflective strips of material sewn on to jeans with super wide legs, platforms, piercings etc etc. It played nothing but trance music. It was also full of people completely off their chops on a concoction of god-only-knows-what with pupils the size of dinner plates:
There had also been a string of incidents where people would get bashed, stabbed etc. I think there was even somebody who was murdered. Just reminds me of the Salt Nightclub Murders.
Anyways, I’m getting rather sidetracked here… where was I…?? oh yes…
So, this one night, we get all dressed up to go to this Gentlemen’s Club, and we go in and have a fancy private booth near the stage, and of course there are
strippers dancers everywhere, and of course they’re names are like Khrystal, Delicious, Ginger, Raven, etc etc and my housemate knew a number of them – when they weren’t stripping they were also working as podium dancers at the other clubs.
So there was this place full of perhaps the grossest-of-the-gross straight guys, and we’re talking disgusting, sleazy alpha-males who all think they are king-shit, and everybody wants them…
Excuse me whilst I go throw up a little bit. Ugh. I can’t stand those types of guys. They’re so revolting. And repulsive. But what makes it worse is that they’re throwing money at these ladies, to treat them like kings and basically do whatever they want, so their ego just spirals out of control. Oh god straight men are disgusting, sometimes.
So there was them… all 150+ of them. Then there was the handful of women who were there (the bogan ladies with the bogan men), my female housemates, and I.
I think the highlights of that night were having three of the girls in our booth dancing up a storm with the three of us at once and being the envy of every guy there… and then having them all give me a lap dance. Unfortunately, (and as embarrassed as I am to admit this) this was the first time I’d ever seen a pikachu up close. Being freshly waxed and smooth as a babies bum, whilst being covered / surrounded with glitter and diamonte’s, was rather fascinating. I remember at one point, one of the girls was sitting right in front of me with her legs spread, writhing around on the stage on her back, and I was fixated at this ‘thing’ that was just staring back at me.
I would compare it to a car accident… you know you shouldn’t be staring at it, but you can’t avoid it. Like it’s staring at you instead. You’re trying to look elsewhere to avoid it,
‘oh gee, she’s got some fancy nipple tassels on…
la-di-dah-di-dah, um, oh god, stop looking at me.
Hey, I like this song.
Oh wow, I didn’t even know the body could *do* that!!
ummm, what is she doing now?
No, bitch, don’t touch me there!!
Do I look like I wanna be touched there? Keep your damn hands to yourse….
OH MY FUCKING GOD, IT’S LOOKING AT ME AGAIN… PLEASE MAKE IT STOP… !!’
After all that, I actually didn’t mind it too much. It stopped bothering me. Well… enough to only be slightly scared of it, rather than feeling utterly terrified. After they’d stop ‘dancing’, and pick up all the money off the stage, I’d ask them important questions like, where they got their shoes from? Do they ever get concerned about having a wardrobe malfunction… y’know, too early into their ‘performance’?
Needless to say, I’ve never set foot back into an establishment like that again. Nor do I ever plan to… well, unless I’m gonna get up there are show those bitches a thing or two… but then that wouldn’t necessarily make me feel out of place, would it.
Hmmm, I think that’s something that requires further discussion.