A frequently discussed topic concerning the anonymity of internet dating is the faceless and often emotionless encounters in blogs and chat rooms. In these anonymous realms people can say really cruel, racist or bizarre things about others that they would never say in real life. When no one knows your name, your face or who you are at all, and when no one can easily find out who you are, it becomes easier to act in a surprisingly audacious manner.
I've recently come to realize that people in clubs can behave in the exact same way as people in chat rooms. As opposed to people at something like a frat party, there is a low chance of any stranger ever coming in contact with you again after that night. Clubs in cities that are typically "vacation towns" are even worse, as everyone is flying out of the city within a few days of their arrival and there is only the slightest chance you will ever see them again.
I went to Las Vegas with some girlfriends for my 21st birthday over Winter Break, and we dutifully hit up the club scene a couple nights to see what all the fuss was about. It turns out that the men in those clubs were absolutely outrageous.
The polite ones introduced themselves and asked if we wanted to dance. Others would just come up behind us, hook their fingers into our belt loops, and begin dancing without any question. If you decided to say "No, thanks. I'm just hanging out with my girls tonight," then they would simply walk away and move on to the next girl, as if we were interchangeable. Many of these guys were pushy, rude and had some of the worst pick-up lines I've ever heard.
One pair of European men claimed to be brothers. One kept insisting that his brother was a "rock star," but we had never heard of him and we weren't impressed. He had hair and eyebrows like Russell Brand, but the desperate attempts to make us believe he was famous simply were not working.
My friend Stephanie was dancing casually with one guy when he reached down, grabbed her hair, and yanked it, hard. "That guy just pulled my hair!" Stephanie screamed. "What did I do to give him the impression that I wanted him to tug on my hair in the middle of the dance floor?" The answer is, she did nothing to make him think that behavior was acceptable, but on a dance floor in a Las Vegas club, men think nothing is off-limits.
The one group of nice men that we were chatting with were from England. Despite the loud, booming music, those British accents were unmistakable, and without them forcing some bizarre claim or pick-up line upon us, we were happy to talk to them. One of them pointed to my friend Katherine and said, "You look like Kate Middleton." A little weird, but she's about to marry Prince William and become Princess of Wales, so I guess it was a compliment in some way. "I would love to be royalty ... are any of you princes?" I asked jokingly. "I am," one guy responded. "Prince Charming." Cheesy, yes, but almost golden after listening to the other trash tried on us all night.
And lastly, on a slightly unrelated note, my parting wisdom about Las Vegas clubs: At this point in the evening, after the creepy guys had come and gone, everyone on the crowded dance floor began staring upwards as dollar bills started to rain down from the ceiling. I kid you not. Every 15 minutes or so, money would be falling from the sky. I made no apologies; I was shameless about scooping up the cash. I was grabbing money out of the air, squatting on the floor in my dress, snatching bills out from under girl's heels and shoving them into my purse. But that's how you had to be if you wanted to buy one of the $12 rails being sold at the bar. Seeing how eager I was to snatch up the cash - "I'm a poor college student!" I kept explaining - the British guys we had been talking to started handing me some of the money that had landed on their heads and shoulders. All of a sudden, the few nice guys we'd met made me feel like I was acting like slightly less than a nice girl. Take my advice. Never accept dollar bills from a stranger in a club, because it feels frighteningly similar to having a career that you really didn't choose.
Jordan's column runs biweekly Mondays. She can be reached at j.hart@cavalierdaily.com.
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