My first institute dance was a culture shock. First of all, I’d just moved up to Orem after graduation at Spanish Fork High School, so I knew no one. I talked to one of the institute teachers who was chaperoning the dance, saying I didn’t know where my new ward was, and that I didn’t have any friends. He introduced me to Julie – a short, brunette woman who apparently knew everyone. He introduced me as “the girl who doesn’t know anyone and is new here and needs some friends,” from Spanish Fork. Oh great.
So I was an institute charity case and I didn’t know how to act. What was I supposed to say? I was introduced and treated nicely, but soon was cut out of the dancing circle. I felt like an idiot, a loner, an outcast. Especially since I was eighteen, and most people were around twenty-three.
Finally sick of being ignored, I looked around for a drink of water. Looking down the halls, I saw that at the back of the gym there was a refreshment table (there’s always one, right?) so I turned to go get some and ran into a short, fat, Chinese guy. I touched his arm and apologized. I laughed it off and walked toward the table. He followed me to the table and where ever I went the rest of the night.
He majored in engineering, went on a mission to New York…I just wanted to go back to finding a friend. I was nice, but I felt he was interested in more than just friendship. I went back to my group of friends, he followed.
I met others, too. There was a boy there a little taller than me, with greasy hair and a tattered, old leather jacket. Dressed in complete black, my impression was to stay away, but he, being a very forward guy, put his hand on the small of my back and led me into the foyer of the gym. Feeling very uncomfortable, before he could start typing on his pompilot he had whipped out, I said, “I’m going to go back and dance with my friends.”
There was a boy there that, to me, seemed a little snobbish. He didn’t dance like the others; he stood to the side, and had a look on his face that seemed like he looked at those who did dance with disdain. I decided I was going to ask this boy to dance and encourage him to participate, even though socially, I had no standing ground. So I asked him, and of course, out of good manners, he accepted.
It was an awkward five minutes. He was extremely tall – six foot four, I found out, and I was standing at a wobbly five foot five. Whenever I wanted to talk to him, I would have to tap the arm I was holding onto and pop up onto my tippy-toes and he would have to bend down and put his ear towards my mouth. I asked him a few questions, but after awhile of seeing him bend down, I didn’t want to inconvenience him any more and the rest of the dance I stared at his button on his shirt while he glanced around at other couples.
He was twenty-three. He was going to BYU-Idaho, majoring in engineering, went on his mission to Denver, Colorado. He was six-foot-four. I asked him towards the end why he didn’t dance like the others. He surprised me by saying, “I’m really shy and don’t know how to dance.” Look at me! Here I am, thinking he is a snob and he really was just shy. A Mr. Darcy assumption, I’m guessing.
Five or ten minutes before the dance ended, I decided I would leave to beat traffic. Shaking hands with Julie (forcing a smile to her and her friends), and a few others I had met, I made my way out to my car and met the Chinese guy. I shook his hand and told him it was nice to meet him. He asked, “Oh, are you leaving?” I knew what was coming, it was inevitable. I screamed inside and said, “Yeah, I want to beat traffic, ya know.”
Here it came. “Oh, well let me walk you out to your car.”
No, no, no, no, no but I found myself forcing a smile and saying, “Okay.”
The whole walk to the parking lot he talked about how he’d never really had any close friends and that all the people he knew were just acquaintances from his classes. I just wanted to advise him that saying those things didn’t make him more appealing and goodnight. I can walk myself to my car!
As soon as I got to my car, I pulled out my keys, unlocked the door and started the engine, as a sign that I wanted to leave. But instead of getting the signal, he sat and talked some more about him being a loser! I tried to make him feel listened to, but my patience was wearing out fast. Then he asked the thing I was trying to avoid, “Do you have a number I can reach you at or an email?”
In my head I was screaming, “When is this going to end??” But instead, I gave him my email address and kindly shut the door.
After he was out of sight and hearing range, I laughed my head off at the ridiculous experience I just went through called an institute dance.