Clubbin’ OKC Style

There we were, three forty-somethings looking for excitement at midnight in Oklahoma City. As the Embassy Suites bartender locked up the liquor and wiped down the counter one last time, he told us to hit Club Rodeo. “There’s bull riding,” he said, so of course you know what I pictured immediately, right? Dolly Parton and John Travolta, mechanical bull, starched Wranglers and shirts with shiny snaps.

Why not?

The $6 cover charge fostered high expectations. But what was that smell as we walked in the front door? Manure? Nah.

The size of the dance floor and all those decades-younger-than-me people moving in synchronized steps was mesmerizing. So was the variety of music – from Brad Paisley to Eminem to Michael Jackson, with assorted styles of twenty-two year olds to match. Before I could fully absorb the diversity of the crowd, that hockey rumble remix song came on and the people dispersed, revealing the livestock gates that held back a real live bull. Authentic looking guys with numbers pinned to their chests lined up to ride it.

There’s bull riding. Oh, that’s what he meant.

And then there was the dancing. Let’s just say that without certain pole-worthy moves and a Rohypnol buzz, my companions and I were not sought after dance partners.

“I think we’re doing this wrong,” one of them said.

But we were doing it just fine. Any differently and we would have needed lawyers and antibiotics. Instead, we only required moderate chiropractic adjustments.

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