Who needs rhythm to teach dancing?!

When I was a sophomore in college, I got hired as a dance instructor. If you know me, that's enough to cause one big belly laugh.

If you don't know me, this could be my chance to use the internet to my advantage. I could tell you that I'm light on my feet and graceful. I could say that my hand-eye coordination is to be marveled at. I could tell you that many have compared me to Ginger Rogers or Jennifer Lopez...and you'd never know that I was actually a big, uncoordinated, clumsy-ass dufus....that is, until you continued reading this story. So, I'll save you some time. I.CAN'T.DANCE. but...For what I lacked in rhythm and timing, I made up for in ridiculously unfounded confidence and of course, style.

The following ad was in the Purdue Exponent: “Love to dance? Wish you could learn all the best dance moves, but don’t have the cash? Learn for free! Become a dance instructor at Arthur Murray. Now hiring.”

I called and set up an interview. As I was getting ready, my roommate Sarah walked into my room and flung herself onto my bed. "Where are you going?" I finished lining my lips in Mauve Seduction and lied. "Class." We'd been friends since we were 13, she couldn't be fooled easily. She sat up on the bed and studied me. "You are NOT going to class. Where are you really going?" I sighed. I never was very good at lying. "To a job interview." She looked confused. "Why didn't you tell me? Where??"

I tried not to get discouraged by the outburst of laughter that exploded from Sarah when I told her about applying for the dance instructor position. “YOU? YOU??????”
She burst into fits of laughter for the fifth time that evening. I stuck my chin out defensively.

“I took tap and jazz when I was a kid.” This made her spit out her diet coke in incredulous, bellowing giggles, “Wh-when? When? Come on, tell me…” I turned away and mumbled the answer. She wasn’t going to let me get off this easy. “Whaaaaaaaat?” She crooned. "I said, I was 4. So what? I’ve gotta go. I’m going to be late for my interview!”

I slammed the door to our apartment before I heard her erupt into more breathless laughing. I shook my head and told myself that she had no idea what I was capable of…even though a voice in the back of my head knew she was right. I was determined to give this my BEST effort. Who knew? Maybe I would become their best dance instructor….maybe the guy who would interview me would look just like Patrick Swayzee in Dirty Dancing.

I smiled shyly at the elderly couples making their way around the parquet dance floor as I walked into the musty smelling dance studio.I looked around, taking in the towering trophies, yellowing photographs in dusty frames and elaborate costumes and shoes for sale.

“GORGEOUS! You two are gorgeous! DIANE! Have you seen the Feldermens’ fox trot?? They’re on fire out here!” The man commenting on everyone’s dancing noticed me lingering in the doorway and made his way over. He glided over the dance floor, weaving in and out of dancing couples like he was one of those small figurines fastened to a rolling track on the “It’s a Small World” ride at Disneyland. He had a butterscotch colored suit on over a wide collared shirt. Both hands were adorned with large rings and he smelled like Old Spice and cigarettes. He grabbed both of my hands, squeezing them between his own hands, hurting my pinky finger as it got caught between the massive amounts of metal on his fingers.

When he spoke to me, he acted like we had always known each other. His tone was conspiratorial and gravelly. “Hello, sweatheart. How can we dance into your heart today?” I blushed and said, “I’m here for an interview with James?” The man did a little half shimmy and a full chest shake as he sang, “Thaaaaaaaaaaat’s meeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! You can call me Jimmy, though, sugar. Are you ready to head back to the office?” I nodded my head eagerly and he pinched my cheek. “Oh, this is going to be fun. You are just too cute!!!”

His "office" turned out to be a storage room in the back, painted an obnoxious shade of purple. There was a card table with a brightly colored tablecloth in one corner with two folding chairs on either side of it. The other side of the room was filled with shoe boxes, racks of clothing in garment bags and cleaning supplies. There were also larger boxes filled with videos and records that formed an obstacle course you had to weave your way around in order to get to the back table.

I followed Jimmy, trying not to knock anything over. He sat down on the chair closest to the wall and crossed his legs, taking a Virginia Slims cigarette out of his right breast pocket. He aimed the pack in my direction. "You partake?? ...In the wicked, evil master I bow down to?" I must have looked utterly perplexed (I know that's how I felt) because Jimmy let out a little guffaw and said, "I'm talking about nicotine, fags, CIGARETTES!!?? Do you want one?" I nodded, grateful that they were menthol. I was a social smoker and occasionally a private smoker, too, but I usually only smoked regular cigarettes in dire circumstances. (For example, it's 4 am, no one is sober enough to drive, and that is the only thing available...you get the idea)

Jimmy put the long, skinny cigarette between his lips and dug in his hip pocket for a lighter. After a few seconds, he whipped out a gold Zippo inscribed with Bitch and lit his cigarette with flourish. He then extended the lit Zippo in my direction. I quickly moved the cigarette up to my mouth and leaned forward. I let out a plume of smoke, hoping I looked cooler than I felt.

Jimmy took a few long drags of his own cigarette and I watched the orange cherry glow bright. He looked at me as he did this, and I grew increasingly uncomfortable. I shifted in my chair, trying my best to hide the muffin top my jeans were giving me. "El pas-E-oh-n...." Jimmy said this with an accent that was somewhere between Spanish and what sounded like a hearing impaired individual.

I was starting to panic. How the hell was I suppose to respond to this?? Luckily, Jimmy leaned forward and let me off the hook. "That's what you need to be a world class dancer, my dear. It's just like my grandmammy used to say, 'You've either got it or you don't!' So, that is ALL I need to know about you, Miss Thing." He said this last part with a little wrist flick and a weaving head bob. I stared at him, wondering what I was expected to say, not even knowing for sure if it was my turn to speak. Jimmy let out an annoyed puff of air, slapped his thigh and said, "Well? Do you do don't you?? I'm waiting for an answer!"

Do I or don't I what?! I figured I had a 50/50 chance. So I took a guess. "I-I do?" I stammered, blinking quickly as smoke from the cigarette I was holding went into my eyes. Jimmy looked me up and down for several minutes, not saying a word. The only sound was the faraway whine of the music coming from the front dance floor and the ticking of a small clock hanging from a nail above Jimmy's head.

I swallowed, wondering if we were ever going to get to the real interview questions...you know, stuff like, 'What are your 3 biggest strengths and 3 biggest weaknesses?' or 'Where do you see yourself in 5 years?' I rehearsed answers to these questions in my head as I waited for Jimmy to finish his visual assessment of me. I was acutely aware that I had grabbed two different socks...a wardrobe oversight that normally would never be noticed, but today with this walking banana scrutinizing me, I was sure to be called out. I knew I should have done my laundry! There was such a massive mountain of dirty clothing in my bedroom, it was truly a miracle I had found any clean socks at all.

Jimmy was frowning at my ankles when someone knocked on the door. A second later, an elderly woman wearing a long sleeved sequin top with shoulder pads, hot pants and high heels came busting through the door, calling out "Hello? He-llo!!!?" as she looked over my head and completely missed seeing Jimmy step behind the open door. I saw Jimmy hang his head, looking forlorn. I sat up a little straighter, and addressed the woman directly. "Hello..." I smiled politely as she grabbed a pair of glasses dangling from a flourescent necklace and raised them to the bridge of her nose, looking down at me in confusion.

Jimmy stayed in the shadows behind the door, looking worried. "I'm looking for James. I need to speak with him right away." Once she had finished glaring at me through her bifocals, she let the glasses once again dangle against her chest. I cleared my throat and said, "Well, he, um, stepped out." (I might not be an expert when it came to lying, but I was pretty savvy when it came to knowing if a lie was needed...) The lady looked annoyed, but didn't really question my authority. She turned on her 4 inch stiletto without saying another word and was gone as quickly as she had appeared.

Jimmy slowly crept out of the shadows and pushed the door shut. He leaned against it for a minute, did the sign of the cross and approached the table where I was still sitting. "Girl, I owe you one. You have NO idea...that was Mrs. Markinson. She is FULL of piss and vinegar and she ain't got no qualms about letting me have it EVERY chance she gets!" I nodded, knowingly and said, "What was she coming back here to talk to you about?" Jimmy grabbed another cigarette and tapped it against the outside of the box, looking thoughtful. "You know what? I have NO fucking clue what that old bag wanted to bitch about today! Ask me if I give a shit." I assumed this was rhetorical so I let out a low laugh, nodding my head with zest.

Without warning, Jimmy shifted his body so that he was sitting sideways in the chair, leaning in my direction, two of the four legs cocked at an angle. He grabbed my hands again, and again, I groaned inwardly for my poor pinkies which were being mangled by the heavy rings on his hands. "Sugar, I love you. You are a life saver! The job is yours. When can you start?" I was a little taken a back. A job offer without an interview? I guess I wrote the answers to those standard interview questions on the bottoms of my shoes for nothing...

Jimmy told me that they supplied the uniforms, but no one was allowed to wear them home unless they bought them. Why anyone would want to spend their own money on a store uniform was beyond me. I thought it was really weird until Irene, Jimmy's assistant, showed me what they expected me to wear. She asked me what size dress I wore and what size shoe I wore. The next thing I knew she was shoving a mint green, flowing chiffon and satin dress in my direction and some gold lame strappy sandals with a kitten heel. She pointed me toward an unmarked door and said, "There. You can go ahead and change there in the closet. There's plenty of room, ain't no one comin in, I'll make sure of it."

I stepped into the closet and changed into the dress. As I was fastening the straps on the shoes, the door rattled and I heard Irene's voice. "I ain't got all day to stand around, waitin on you. You got it on?" I cleared my throat and croaked, "I'm coming!" I stepped out with a flourish, loving the feeling of the chiffon as it encircled my bare legs. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and stood, sashaying from side to side, admiring my reflection in this princess dress until Irene grabbed my elbow and said, "What are you...deaf?? I said, I ain't got all day. You think those 45 new people that just registered during the open house on Sunday are gonna file their own paperwork??" She snorted, laughing at her own personal joke as she muttered, "If only...From your lips to God's ears, kid."

Jimmy grabbed my hand and twirled me around, pushing my hips so that I kept spinning and spinning until I felt a little wobbly. I tried not to let my lack of balance show as he let go of my hand and held me at arm's length, admiring the dress he had designed and made for the studio. "Ahh...you are wearing a Jimmy original! Aren't you sweet to pick one of my dresses?" I didn't tell him that I really had no role in the selection of this outfit. Instead I smiled and nodded, waiting for him to show me what we would do next.