Cuban Band at Sam Bond's Garage

April 29, 2010 - 5:00 PM

We needed a night for the girls. So we thought about the normal bar scene around campus. All of the usual places came to mind, but none of them ever provide the good time we're looking for. Max's, Taylor's, and Rennie's are always cramped with the same boring, superficial folks.

We weren't looking for that.

And we didn't want to dance the way they dance at places like Taylor's. You know what I am talking about. Bumping, grinding, sweating, convulsing, all over someone you've never met and would probably hate if you could hear them speak.

So we ventured.

We went past the 3 block radius of campus and headed into the meat of Eugene (well, meat is probably the wrong word, but bear with me). We found ourselves in the neighborhood where real people live-not stoned students and slutty Greek-life types.

It was my first time at Sam Bond's Garage. My friends had gone to see the Cuban band play before, as well as come out for Monday-night Bingo. But I don't go out very much. Being the only sober one who is practically married makes for some boring evenings at the bars.

Bars are for people looking to get laid-or at the very least looking for attention from the opposite sex. And in order to make that easier, they all throw back several drinks. So there I am in the middle of a dance floor while all my friends' eyes are rolling around in the backs of their heads while trying to focus on the guy grinding behind them.

Trust me: To the sober eye, that shit ain't pretty.

But the idea of listening to a Latin-American band and potentially dancing in a new and different way appealed to me. We would be with people we'd never met before and might never meet again. I am so tired of watching the same people meander through the same social groups-it's stifling.

Jessica and I got there first, so we found a table near the front-that way, we could sit and watch people without having to make small talk with the other girls over the loud music, or, if the mood struck, we could jump up and dance.

When the girls arrived, we all sat down with a few drinks. My Diet Coke never costs me anything because bars give designated drivers free drinks. People always assume that it is a really big rum and Coke, or they don't mention it at all. The other girls started sipping whiskey, beers, and other fruity little drinks that cost more than the appetizers.

The band started to play, and immediately, Hispanic men approached our table and asked the prettiest girl to dance. That was what we came for. In bars like Taylor's, no one ever asks you to dance. If you want to dance, you smash into the middle of the crowd until your pelvis meets someone else's. At Sam Bond's, at least with this band, men actually request a dance.

The girls we were with, however, behaved like chicken shits. They were too embarrassed or too ethnocentric to agree to dance, so when the pretty girl turned the man down, I took him up.

We went to the floor and had a good time. I admitted that I had only salsa-ed in my ballroom dance class and in my living room as a joke, so I asked him to show me what to do. He was gracious and obliged. Pretty soon, my hips were popping with the upbeat Latin sounds and I felt right at home on the dance floor with my unfamiliar dance partner. After the dance, we walked away. There were no expectations to get a drink, share our contact information, or follow each other home. He just expected us to dance.

After I took the plunge, I had earned the privilege of pushing my friends onto the dance floor with the other men extending their hands in invitation. Once they saw that my dance partner didn't cling, the other girls felt more comfortable venturing onto the floor.

Everyone went at least once, but it was still too much for our more conservative companions, and all the girls except for Jessica and I left after just an hour.

After their first set, the band put on some recorded music and came out to dance. We must have caught their eyes because they headed straight for our table. I was shocked when the leader of the band approached me instead of Jessica.

Jessica is leaner than I am, more angular, and usually more appealing to men in bars. But I guess we weren't at Taylor's, Max's, or Rennie's anymore, and these men weren't as interested in her supermodel appearance.

Of course, I accepted his request and we headed to the dance floor. At first we took it slow so that I could get the hang of the moves. As our dancing continued, he started to integrate more complex movements and led me into them effortlessly. By the end of the night he had, spun me, twisted me, shimmied his way down to the floor in front of me, and bent me over backwards only to pull me up one vertebra at a time.

It was sexy.

He even tried to kiss me, but somehow I dodged it and ended up getting a kiss on the cheek and the hand.

After his second set we did the same, even eliciting applause from the restaurant that required a bow.
It was exactly what we had been looking for. The night was sinless but sexy. It was different but safe. It was everything but the usual evenings spent at the boring, sweaty, dirty bars within walking distance of campus. And I loved it.