Clubbing Adventure

This is quite possibly the weirdest thing that has ever happened to me.

So, Marvin and Naomi took me out clubbing for my eighteenth birthday- my first ever clubbing experience. It was the usual scene- crammed with people, women dressed like skanks, men with too much cologne, a plethora of drunk people, etc...

We got on the dance floor and after a few minutes this guy came over and danced with me.  I think he showered in cologne; there's no other explanation as to why he would've thought it was a good idea to wear that much. He kept trying to get me to put my hands on the back of his neck so he could be even more uncomfortably close. I went with it just so I could control my personal bubble and make sure he wouldn't get all up on me. After a song or two, I couldn't decide if he was really sweaty or if he had too much hair gel.

A minute later I decided it couldn't be hair gel. It just was not possible. That left him being the sweatiest human being alive. It's at this point he tried talking to me. Notice I said talking, as in regular conversation level talking. You're lucky if you can have a shouting conversation in a club where the people involved don't have to repeat themselves several times and still only have a vague idea of what was said.

To make that worse, he is talking to me in spanish. I can pick out a few words on a good day... assuming I can hear it. I kept yelling NO HABLO ESPANOL. I wasn't even sure if I should say hablo or habla. That's how bad it was.

(whisper spanish)
NO HABLO ESPANOL
(more spanish)
NO HABLO ESPANOL
(spanish)
NO HABLO ESPANOL
(more stuff)

I gave up. I couldn't get over how incredibly sweaty he was. He was like a damn fountain.  I was getting more and more grossed out by him. I was about to wipe my hands on my pants when I glanced at them and realized they were far too dark for my pasty skin. I really looked down- My palms were covered in blood.

For serious. Blood. My hands (heel to fingertips) were covered in blood. I couldn't make that up if I tried. Blood all over my hands. I just stared for a very long few seconds unable to comprehend it. I looked at him, looked at my hands, looked at him, looked at my hands. I held my hands out to him, speechless, as if to say "WHAT. IN. THE. FUCKING. FUCK?!!!"

My friends looked over at that moment, just as confused as I was, if not more so. I don't even know if they saw the blood. They probably just thought that guy was a douche and I was telling him off. I stormed off to go wash my hands and filled them in on what happened. Then I saw that he had also gotten blood on my shirt... a lot of blood. All down my hip, in fact. They both kept asking if I was alright; I made sure I didn't have any cuts or anything. I have no idea where the blood came from, but the important thing was that it wasn't mine.

This was literally within the first fifteen minutes of being there. I opted not to leave, purely out of stubbornness that I wouldn't have this be my only clubbing experience- it would just be an unbelievably bizarre story. Okay, it was also about the $20 admission and I was strapped for cash... We just avoided that side of the club for the rest of the night. The plus side of the rest of the evening was Marvin taught me how to salsa.

So now, anytime I go out and have a miserable time, I always tell myself "At least no one bled on me."