Le 27 février 2008 restera une date décisive dans ma carrière, celle de mon tout premier article publié dans le
Johnsonian, le journal de l’université.
En voici la version Internet, redécoupée juste pour vous.
Bonne lecture.
Cupid grinds for Valentine’s Day
Valentine’s Day.
The disc jockey unleashes his set, using his mixing table as a shotgun. His House of Pain ammo strikes me as the speakers yell “Jump Around,” driving the dancehall crazy.
Wait. What’s going on? Isn’t it the lovers’ consecration, the ultimate night of romance?
What is a French guy like me, an international student studying at Winthrop, doing in a club instead of hanging out with his girlfriend?
For two months, I wasn’t in the mood for love as I missed my ex-girlfriend. Then, people started to act weirdly around me, talking about truffles or sugar hearts.
All this excitement was about Feb. 14, a day I always thought of as a shame. My narrow French mind couldn’t imagine a specific day for love. So what? Are the 364 others about hate?
I also don’t like its commercial aspect. Valentine’s Day isn’t part of French traditions. American marketers did a great job infecting the proud and stubborn France with their parties. However, some resisters still try to fight the virus.
French aren’t the only Europeans suspicious about this date. Sandra Brandt, my Swedish classmate, told me a lot of her fellow citizens don’t enjoy Cupid’s celebration.
“I don’t like the way Americans enjoy Valentine’s Day. It’s too much,” she said.
I agreed.
I boycotted this syrupy party for about a decade but I’m in America now. I need to adapt. My friends and I decided to go to Bar Charlotte to enjoy a weird but appealing “naughty schoolgirl” theme.
As I enter the club, big differences appear between French and American features. Some French bars have dancing poles but I’ve never seen a bull-riding machine in a club before.
A barmaid sensually dances on a kindergarten swing while a lucky longhaired guy lies on the seat between her thighs. Coming closer to the swinging couple, I discover the lucky guy is actually a woman. She seems delighted, anyway.
Like her colleagues, the barmaid wears a supposed-to-be college outfit: heels, stockings, slim-fit top and a very short, red skirt. Her body moves right, left, right… I’m mesmerized. The temperature seems to rise slightly.
Alcohol is flowing and some customers are far-gone.
Aroused by the barmaids’ groove, people start to dance. A woman grabs her friend’s hips and moves lasciviously body to body. Some guys come closer. The party warms up.
Grinding… the first time I saw people grinding, I was slightly… surprised. I always thought it was just a video clip thing.
More women wearing schoolgirl outfits appear. Poles and bars are now crowded. Clothes are very small. Dances are very wild.
“It’s disgusting,” my friend Julie Soum says.
“I totally agree with you,” I say, smiling at two sexy twin dancers.
Beside the “schoolgirls,” some strange night beasts wander around. I meet a giant chicken and a gorilla wearing an orange polo shirt. I look at an ad picturing a bear using a restroom. “[In Bar Charlotte], everything can happen,” the ad says.
“Yeah, definitely,” I think. I look at my glass and I remember I can’t drink tonight. Wow! The water seems pretty strong out there.
Contest time. A reward of $500 will be given to the naughtiest schoolgirl according to the good old “yell-o-meter.” As showing underwear seems to work, skirts fly and tops leave. If the dancers are definitely naughty, no one dares dancing topless. I see some disappointed faces. Sorry guys, it’s not Mardi Gras anymore.
Then, I meet a gorgeous blonde bartender.
“Hey, my name is Jaime Wolfe. Nice to meet you,” this striking beauty says. A howl tries to escape from my throat. Primal feelings.
“It’s a very high energy club. I like working with such a lot of people,” she says.
A smile blossoms on my face as the conversation goes on.
Too bad. It’s already time to leave Charlotte but my friends and I haven’t met our Valentine (yet?).
It’s not a big deal.
We, the international students, will always remember this night as our very first American Valentine’s Day.