Mayhem: Dance club disappoints

By Maryann Dakkak

If Brad Pitt walks into your room and asks you to go dancing with him, jump for joy. If he asks you to go to the Body Shop, tell him you never want to see him again and slam the door in his face.

All I wanted to do was get off campus and have fun. From great dance club experiences at home (Sac-town), I felt confident that the Body Shop would have something decent to offer. I was wrong. It's the story of designated driver having a terrible time. But it's more than that. I have never felt so violated in my life.

I mean, I'm cool under pressure; as far as I remember, I've never panicked, until last Friday. The Body Shop has incredible music, and is actually a pretty nice club, but the crowd is lude, disrespectful and if I may say so, disgusting. The three friends I drove there were drunk, and my job was to make sure nothing regrettable happened and to have fun. The first was accomplished with incredible difficulty, and the second was a complete failure.

As soon as we got into the crowd, guys were all us. Hands were everywhere, and trying to get further. I didn't even know where the hands were coming from. I felt uncomfortable, so I sat on the stage watching my friends and constantly pushing off guys who tried to drag me back onto the dance floor.

What I saw scared me. The guys were not only trying to physically separate my friends, but were almost crushing them. At one point it was obvious that one of my friends was no longer feeling comfortable. So I did what any friend would do, and got off the stage to save her. But the guys obviously thought I wanted in on the action. Here's where the panic sets in.

As I tried to grab my friend (who couldn't stand on her own accord), they held her back. I started hyperventilating, and did what I could: I hit them. I never pushed and hit that many guys. Finally, I took the girls back to the car. A few of the guys had followed us, much to my chagrin.

"I'm a security guard," one guy said, "I just want you guys to come over for an after party." He'd been trying to convince my friends to go to his house.

"I don't care what you are," I said, "You're not their security guard, I am, and they're not going anywhere with you."

I took them to the car, and unlocked the door. One of the guys got in the back seat and tried to kiss one of my friends on the lips. From the front seat I kept grabbing his face and pushing him away, telling him to get out of my car. He kept trying. I got really angry, so I grabbed his face with my hand and shoved it into the doorframe of the car. He finally got out.