Diversity Grind

"Well, at least there's no eleven-teen-year-olds here," the guy next to me said.

And so my night at the CellBlock began.

With two weeks left until the semester ends I decided to get a little crazy and head out on a Wednesday night. Partly to pay homage to nightlife blog's humble beginnings, and partly because it was hosting an over-18 night, the ex-Crowbar location was my venue of choice for the evening.

Donning a sparkly blue shirt that I swore I was going to wear all the time when I bought it in January, I strutted up to the front door and discovered a discouragingly long line. Fortunately, the friendly bouncer advised me of the far cooler, side entrance.

And that was where I met the eleven-teen-year-old-avoiding-man.

When I inquired as to where he had spotted these wanna-be teenagers, he told me that Players Night Club teen night was their common hangout. Apparently, those young-ins aren't very fun to hang out with. Plus there's the whole felony thing to worry about.

By this point I had reached the front of the line, where the door guard took my $5 and drew red slashed zeros on each of my hands. Once inside, I immediately began looking for the free pizza, which I hoped to make up my $5 cover by eating. Shockingly, it wasn't very good. And the soda bar wasn't looking too appealing either.

I decided to head up to the dance floor, which was easier said than done with the amount of people traffic on the stairs. But once I managed to make it to the second floor, the first thing that hit me was the diversity of the place.

And I'm not talking Penn State poster "Respect Comes Full Circle" smiling faces diversity. There were people of every gender, race, weight, demeanor and sexuality participating in the crazy orgy-like dancing conditions. Heck, I even saw a few astrophysics majors bumping and grinding to the music.

Unfortunately, I had a little trouble dancing in the place. It's not that the music wasn't good. It's just that you can't stick your hands out and do the Macarena or the robot when there's somebody within one inch on all sides of you. I mean, I least thought we were going to get some kind of cake-walk-type thing going when they put on "Walk it out," but no such luck.

Finally I ran into (quite literally) an old acquaintance and her friend. I started to dance with them, but I then I noticed the eleven-teen-year-old-fearing-man wallflowering by the stairs. I felt bad, so I called him over and introduced him. But then he abruptly began dancing with one of the girls and the other one ran away, leaving me once again awkwardly alone in a sea of people.

Luckily, it doesn't take much skill to meet people at the CellBlock. That is, if by meet people you mean run into people, have a little awkward eye contact, maybe dance for a little bit and then get separated by the crowd.

By about 1 a.m. I was getting so hot I wished I had worn my super-ventilated work out shirt instead of my hip, button-down party shirt. I thought I was going to get some relief when the DJ started throwing out towels, but apparently they were reserved for "single ladiesssss" and "gold-diggers" only.

Deciding I really needed to get some form of hydration, I finally decided to work my way out of the pulsating mass. With many determined steps and quite a few "excuse mes" I at last emerged into the fresh State College air.

As I headed home, I concluded that the Cellblock was one prison I definitely would not want to be incarcerated in. But I wouldn't mind going every once in a while for a conjugal visit.