I came here to dance

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If Disneyland is the happiest place on earth, then a dance class is the bitchiest. Especially if it is a casual drop in one, where you have people from all waks of life and levels. From the wannabe Beyonces to the “I was on Broadway” types, it is a melting pot of personalities, ego’s and drama set against some music with lots of air kisses.

I went to Sydney Dance the other day, which is the Australian equivalent of the Broadway Dance Centre. It is a ‘come as you please’, no experience necessary dance school. It has 4 classes running at any one time, 7 days a week. Pay your entry and your in the club. That’s what I love about it. There’s no pressure, no pre-requisite. I don’t need to commit to a 12 month membership, nor do I need to panic if I miss a lesson, as the content of class changes day to day. I just pay, dance and leave.

For many people though, (I find in particular the ones that have just discovered dance) they do become regulars and the dance class becomes their second home. And like any good gaurd dog, they become very territorial. The teacher becomes their master and they desperately try to outdo one another to get the teachers attention. And heaven forbid if any newcomer should stand in their spot, they will slowly and passive aggressively force you out, till suddenly you find youself dancing out in the corridor…that’s for the lucky ones. For the not so lucky ones, you may cop a jazz hand or two in the face.

I have no problem hanging in the back, but if you’re going to stand in the front line, please move down the front. I get so aggravated when the front line starts in the middle of the room and there are 50 other people tring to cram in behind. So, to counteract said problem, I moved past the regulars and stood right down the front. I mean really, how much room do you need for a few soubresaut or some twerking.

There were gasps as I went and stood in front of the die hards . They couldn’t believe the audacity and all looked like they’d sucked on too many lemons. Meanwhile, the newcomers up the back were smiling and winking at me in admiration and appreciation. A few even said thankyou. They began to surge forward, finally given freedom and its safe to say the “front line” were well and truely miffed.

Even though you are wearing every bit of dancing apparel known to man, this does not make you a better dancer or give you more authority than anyone else.  Yes, you may look the part with your legwarmers, leotards, the latest shoes, sweatband and “dance is my life” t-shirt , but at the end of the day you still paid your $22 entry just like the rest of us.

Everyone is there for the same reason…they love to dance, so be considerate and share the love.

 

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