My friends and I entered club Prana in Ybor wearing too much make-up and not enough clothes. The atmosphere reminded me in awful ways of middle school dances—boys slouched on the bar, adventurous girls trying to get the party started by dragging their friends on the floor in a close circle—it ended rapidly with a blushing exit.
We had arrived much too early. We lingered uncomfortably around the DJ and tried to decide whether or not we would look for more awkward dancing or just stand still. The employees shot each other knowing glances: we were obviously new at this.
But as the club got more packed, the vibe transformed. Dim lighting and loud music offered protection for those who needed courage to dance and mingle. Pretty soon, it was hard to tell who was a novice and who was a regular. Girls closed their eyes and bit their lips, while their dance partner enjoyed the private show.
Earlier in the evening, I’d met a shy girl in the corner who was complaining that she didn’t know how to dance. Later, I saw her amongst the center of the crowd with her legs firmly wrapped around a stranger, gyrating to the music while her more innocent posse stared in disbelief before turning to find their own partners.
It was a club scene from Jersey Shore or Real World. From the outside, the place must have appeared to be bursting with energy, hot music and sexual tension. People seemed animalistic in their primal hunt for a partner.But for me and my minimal club experience, I couldn’t help but notice the other aspect of it: strange 30 year-old men intermixed with the group of teens.
When a guy grew overly offended at my decline for a dance and tried to give me a suspicious looking drink, I made a beeline for the boys I trust, only to have my arm grabbed by yet another stranger who asked in slurring tones, “Where do you think you’re going, sweetheart?” By this point, I was ready to leave. It was barely midnight and I knew I should want to stay out until two. I should want to drink with my friends. I should enjoy the male attention and leave with a hot stranger. Isn’t that what college is about?
That’s what I’m told.I did my own thing—circling the room, dancing with a few guys—but couldn’t manage to get distracted enough from what was going on around me. Other girls were learning the same lesson: that “creeps” don’t just exist in health class.
When I asked Bridget Sullivan, a freshman at UT, if her expectations of the “college experience” influenced her decision to go to ‘Aja’, a club in Channelside, she said, “Yes it definitely did, but I think it had a lot to do with UT’s urban location and available nightlife.”
Russell Colleran, my fellow freshman from across the hall, had a similar response: “My mindset is this: I’m in college, this is what I’m able to do now.” He also agreed that his expectations of college life influenced his decision to go out and have a good time.
We all sat in an exhausted silence on the cab ride home, watching the club blend in with the others until they all became a blur. Even though the end of my first adventure had come much sooner than expected, I couldn’t deny how much fun I’d had. But I also couldn’t deny the moments that left me feeling out of place and more like a freshman then I ever did in high school.
I came to college with a perfectly painted mental image of how my lifestyle would change, forgetting that a title and an acceptance letter couldn’t alter who I am.
But I also came to college to learn, and learning extends far beyond any lecture hall.
Hannah Webster can be contacted at hannahkarine31@gmail.com.