Continuing my drunk person series. DUI Dancing.

DUI Dancing Under the Influence.
Back when I was a mere 18-years old in 1962 my friend Jim and I would occasionally drive up into the San Bernardino mountains east of Los Angeles and visit a friend who lived in the upper desert of Hesperia. A place that certainly can become desert hot in the summer time and fall well below freezing in the winter. A good place to take your one-hump camel and acclimate the beast to be ridden in the sandy dunes of the Saudi Arabian desert.
But anyway, Jim and I while visiting there would often stay with a friend who we knew when he lived in East L A. Our upper-desert friend named Ronnie had a country band and they played in various bars, roadhouses, and other public places in the San Berdo upper desert. Ronnie himself played the lead guitar. There was one other guitarist and a drummer in his country band. Jim and I drove once to listen to Ronnie and his band rehearse. They were not half bad. A little clunky here and there but pretty good. Good for upper desert amateur minstrels.
Then that following Sunday afternoon Jim and I drove to a roadhouse dance hall just out of Hesperia to listen to Ronnie and his country band actually perform. They performed in a large dance hall. It was a bit warmish inside and the back double doors were wide open to allow air flow and clear out the stuffy smokey place and let it cool down. All the while his band was picking and grinning. Playing old standard country tunes. After entering the big metal building Jim and I sat down on benches at a long pick-nick type table. A table you would bring a party, sit, and drink and dance. So, Jim and I ordered Cokes. We sat there and listened to Ronnie sing and pick. Out on the dance floor There were one or two couples out tittering and swaying on the dance floor and slowly sliding about. As I was sipping on my iced Coke and to my surprise a noticeably drunk woman and her partner approached our table and with slurred speech the tipsy woman asked me to dance with her. I then looked at Jim and he looked back with that ‘now what are you going to do’ look. Not knowing what else to say I told her the truth. I don’t know how to dance but she kept on begging me to dance with her. Begging me as her partner, who I assume was her husband was holding her elbow as to steady her. Once again, I mentioned, “I do not know how to dance. Thinking to myself how I had turned down girls my age in the recent past. One when at our high school graduation party. One cute little Jewish girl who asked me to the Christmas ball. Another girl from my high school when I was sitting and listening to a live band at a dance club in west L A. And the truth be known my fundamentalist mother told me if I ever dance with girls an uncertain fate will befall me. And I could only imagine the dance floor opening up dropping me into a smoky inferno.
So, no! I do not dance. I do not know how to dance. Go dance with your tipsy partner. I do not care for blazing hot infernos. I told Jim it was time to leave. I think my mom is calling me.

Published by OkieMan

I come from a family who migrated from the parched red dirt Plaines of southern rural Oklahoma. Migrating to blue collar working class community of East Los Angeles. There is where I was born. I am Mr. Writermelon. I can only write what my grammar and spell checker allows. I am neither profound nor profane. Boy howdy! Send comment to: Mr.writermelon@gmail.com

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