How does an agoraphobic get back into the social scene after being out of it for 12 years? Well, myself and a friend, who also suffers, decided to find out. We hesitantly made plans, wondering all the while if we could actually do this. We knew we had to start somewhere and now was as good a time as any. What the hell! What did we have to lose?
The day of the big challenge was filled with anticipation. We weren't quite sure what people were wearing to clubs those days so we figured if one of us wore a dress and the other wore slacks, then one of us was sure to be properly attired. I was very uptight throughout the day and, upon calling my friend on the telephone, I discovered she was the same way.
Getting ready was likened to a horror movie. With trembling hands I began to apply my makeup and after five attempts, I finally got my lipstick on straight. Putting on eyeliner took much longer and I gave up on the mascara. I didn't want to be blind for the rest of my life. Underarm deodorant was sprayed so many times that my bathroom took on the appearance of San Francisco Bay in the morning.
I had planned on wearing a dress that had looked pretty good when I had tried it on earlier, but now it seemed to hang on me like a rag. Tearing it off, I looked for something else but nothing seemed right. By this time my breath was coming in gasps and my heart was pumping overtime. "I can't do this! I'm calling it off! Why bother?"
I went to call my friend to tell her I wasn't doing this, but my desire to accomplish this goal was great and I might as well have some results for all the anxiety I was experiencing. I put on the dress I had planned to wear in the first place and continued to get ready.
Time was running out and that's what I felt like doing. The place where we had decided to go had been described to us in detail by those who had been there before. We had wanted to know how far away from the main door the lounge was located, where the washrooms and exits were and where to find a telephone...JUST IN CASE! Armed with this information, we set off to reintroduce ourselves to the social scene. My daughter drove us to our destination where she left us at the door with the encouraging words, "You're on your own!" Kids! What would we do without them?
We entered the imposing-looking building with much trepidation. With well-trained eyes, we quickly located the telephone, washroom, lounge and all exits...JUST IN CASE! We decided to freshen up before entering the lounge. Anything, I guess, to prolong the inevitable. We fiddled and fussed and when there was nothing left to fiddle and fuss with, we headed for the lounge. As we entered, we realized that maybe we were a little too early. The absence of people caused us to arrive at that conclusion. The only sign of life was the staff. How conspicuous we must look! Not only that...how desperate!
As nonchalantly as possible we walked to a table, one close to the door. We didn't have our coats removed before a waiter was hovering over us, waiting for us to order. I matter-of-factly ordered a Coke while my friend ordered a beer. "How much do we tip?" I ask my friend. She had no idea, but the question was quickly answered when the waiter returned with the drinks. $5.45! Good Grief! Just how long HAVE we been out of circulation? Sorry, Buddy. No tip for you tonight. As it is, we'll have to sip these. We can't afford to gulp.
Thirty minutes later we're still the only patrons. The place is as quiet as a morgue. Where's the music? Where are the live ones? I spot a colourful piece of machinery in a corner. Well, son-of-a-gun! It's a jukebox. A jukebox such as I've never seen before. A bit of music might liven up this place. Seeing that I had left my glasses at home, my friend went to select a song. I suggested one by Buddy Holly or The Everly Brothers. Something by them would really relax me. But, alas, it's not to be. All the songs are recent ones so my friend selects one by Dwight Yoakam. I think he's Mammy and Pappy's son. And a quarter entitles you to one song. Can you believe it?
Several people start to trickle in and before we know it the place is crowded and noisy. The entertainment for the evening set up their equipment. Two guitars and a synthesizer. Wow! Talk about the Big Band Era! As soon as the guys open their mouths and sing, I know we are in for a night of it. Although I hadn't been to a club in 12 years, I do have an ear for music and what was coming from them wasn't pleasing to the ear. I have always liked the songs 'Amanda' and 'Seven Spanish Angels', but the next time I hear them, I'll cringe. But what the hell! We were around real live people. Who cares how the band sounds. Right?
We sat and watched the people around us getting up to dance. My feet began to itch. I wanted to trip the light fantastic too. At least one part of me did. The other part was terrified that someone WOULD ask me to dance. So I sat there, hopeful and terrified at the same time.
Wait! Is that guy headed our way? Oh God, I'm going to pass out! I've forgotten how to dance. It's been too long. The guy was on his way to the bar. Whew! What a relief! Before my heart gets a chance to settle, I feel a hand on my shoulder. Someone had come up behind me and was asking me to dance. I shot a frightened look at my friend but she was also being asked to dance and was heading for the dance floor. Standing on legs that were trembling I also headed that way. It seemed to be a mile away. I'll never make it! I know I won't! I'll make a fool of myself! Do I lead or does he? Think back! Think back! He leads...that's right.
I finally reached the dancing area. The guy put his arm around me and we began to dance. 1-2-2, 1-2-2. We're waltzing. I notice he's wearing steel-toed shoes. He must have found out that I would be there that night. He fires a barrage of questions at me. He wants to know my name, address and telephone number. Just how much do I tell this guy? All I divulge is my first name. I figure that's enough. Suddenly I feel as if I'm dancing with an octopus. His hands are all over me. Is this the way they dance nowadays? I try to ignore the little puffs of air that he keeps blowing into my ear. I'm exhaling puffs of air myself, but for a different reason. I'm hyperventilating! The waltz goes on and on. I pray for it to end. I have to get back to my table. I can't breathe properly. The dance finally ends but he still holds me tight. I have to dance another dance with him. "Lord, get me through this and I'll never call on you again for a favor for as long as I live." Which won't be too much longer. Relax! Relax! Take a deep breath!
The next dance sends everyone into a frenzy. It's a Newfie Jig. I get the old legs pumping and join in. Around and around we go. I'm as dizzy as a fool. The room is spinning. The sweat is running freely from my armits, trickling down my sides. The dance goes on and on. Sweet Jesus! My left leg is starting to seize up. I'm gasping for breath. My heart is going to burst through my chest and splatter against the wall. Would someone call the paramedics? Please!
It finally ends and I stagger back to my table and collapse onto the chair. Talk about being out of shape! I should have chosen a veteran's club to make my debut. My friend returned to the table and we compare notes. They are almost identical. I guess swingers must have the same tutor. Then we start to compare symptoms, but before we can really get into it, I feel another hand on my shoulder and I'm off and at it again. This fellow gives me a sob story about how he's been divorced for several years and has to do his own cooking and cleaning. I 'tut' 'tut' sympathetically while I think, 'So what, you Bozo, I've been doing that for the last 25 years.' Then he starts to sing into my ear. With the fumes from the alcohol going in also I won't expect any wax build-up for months. I wait for the roving hands but apparently this one prefers to dance cheek to cheek. I can feel my face being pushed out of shape and my eyes start to bulge. My friend glides past me with the same bulging eyes. And to think that for 12 years we missed out on all this fun.
When we return to the table we decide to go to the washroom to repair any damage and also to muster enough strength to see us through the rest of the evening. We look at each other and burst out laughing. Actually, our laughter borders on hysteria. And being gluttons for punishment, we return for more of the same. I had been drinking Coke-flavored ice water for the last thirty minutes so we order another round. We'll really have to take our time with these. They'll have to last until closing time or until we collapse...whichever comes first.
A huge form looms suddenly in front of me. I look up and there's this giant of a man asking me to dance. I mentally pictured each of my bones being crushed, one by one, but he is very gentle. He also asks a lot of questions and I volunteer the information that I play the keyboard. By sheer coincidence, he just happened to have purchased one that very week and wouldn't it be great if I would teach him how to play it. I wasn't prepared for this. I had been out of circulation for so long that I could barely manage to carry on a conversation...a light conversation. I wasn't ready to go beyond that point, not yet anyway. Outside of this setting, what could I talk about? Kids, housework, recipes, agoraphobia? Agora-what? I concocted a story about being out of town for the next few weeks and let it go at that.
The remainder of the evening sped quickly by. I found myself openly yawning as the clock crept towards one. It was past my bedtime and my poor battered body was reminding me of that. The band was playing the last song for the evening as we got up to leave.
My friend and I looked at each other with satisfaction, both of us breathing a sigh of relief. We had made it! It hadn't been so bad. After all the anticipation and worry and fear, we had done all right. We felt good for what we had accomplished.
As we walked toward where our ride was waiting, we began to laugh. We did what we had set out to do.
cheers for
agoraphobics who had
hell of a night!!!
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