“I want to go to Ladies 80s,” my brother’s girlfriend Lacey said, as she took another swig of the cheap wine I had left over. “I’ve never been before.”
We were already half a bottle down and it was the pre-ComFest Michael Jackson Tribute party — what better way to lose your Ladies 80s virginity than with a little MJ, right?
While we waited to leave, I told her about the Ladies 80s of yore, when the only thing to do on Thursday night was drink cheap Long Islands at Union Cafe, and then go to Ladies 80s to meet up with your friends. We wouldn’t leave until the lights came up, and sweat rolled down our faces. I told her about how many of my cell phones the back stall in the women’s room had claimed, and how many times I snuck into the men’s room to pee when the line was too long.
Then I started thinking about my more recent jaunts to Ladies 80s. The crowd had thinned, more ’90s music had been incorporated and there was basically no escape from seedy dudes wearing wedding rings on the dance floor. I was starting to re-consider, but after inspecting the now empty bottle of wine, I strapped on my dancing shoes.
The place was already filling up when we arrived. We weren’t even through the door when “Bad” started booming over the loud system. I grabbed Lacey’s hand and we nearly ran to the dance floor. We were passed by two “Bad” era Michael Jacksons, who sprinted directly to the stage. You never quite appreciate a moonwalk competition until you witness one in person.
We had danced ourselves sober before we even opened at tab. Lacey was ordering a round when I nearly slammed directly into my best friend, whom I hadn’t seen in weeks due to conflicting schedules.
“I thought you weren’t going out tonight!” she squealed. “I wasn’t,” I squealed right back. “But, you know, MJ.” We both nodded.
We stood at the bar, shouting over the music when a guy passed us some sequin gloves. It instantly became the centerpiece of every picture for the rest of the night. From then on, everything was a blur. We left just before the lights came up. Sweat rolled down our faces. Ladies 80s was back.