"White Trash" nights make great dance partners
White Trash Wednesdays at the Sandbar in West Vail entices an eclectic mix of people, ranging from those solely interested in downing the $3 24-ounce PBRs in less than a minute to those who are more focused on flirting with the cute bouncers at the door. Whichever one it may be, no one appears to be underserved or starving for any male attention.
Last Wednesday, my partner-in-crime and I arrived at the Sandbar to find it already bumping with all the “white trash” around Vail. We headed right to the bar, as is the usual move of ours, to take advantage of the deals offered: copious amount of beer and buckets of fried chicken for under $5. After sufficiently fulfilling the need for all the white trash food and drinks we could handle, we decided to switch over to the ultra-feminine drink of jager shots. After a few more shots and a lot less control, I tried testing myself on the dance floor only to find in the short span of an hour my dance moves had gone from nonexistent to the best in Vail. Not seeing the need for an actual person to dance with, I decided the lonely pole standing by himself in the middle of the bar could make a great dance partner, what with my jazzy feet and very coordinated arm flailing.
However, much I was enjoying my heightened sense of rhythm and skill, others around me did not seem so appreciative. At one point, my friend from college swung me around in a very elaborate ballroom dancing move which landed me back first into a table where a small group of coeds were enjoying somewhat of a more low-key night. Of course, I saw this mishap as a perfect chance to meet new friends, and maybe even dance with one of the strapping young lads. As I pulled one of the men up to join in our dancing circle, I felt a slight push at my back. I turned around, generously opening up our circle to some of the less-talented dancers, to be full-on shoved from, what I am now guessing, was my new friend’s girlfriend. Luckily I kept my white-trash instincts to a minimum and did not clock her in the face as she deserved, but instead found the situation very amusing and simply giggled in her face. What was funny to me was apparently not too funny to the female version of Hulk Hogan and I decided to move away from their party and return to my friends.
After we had sufficiently “rocked the Sandbar” all we could that night we decided it was time to leave (or perhaps it was nicely suggested that we leave). We stumbled the mile home with no plans of ending the night anytime soon. And how could we? There were still beers in our fridge waiting to be drunk, W.W.V (warm well vodka) to take shots of, and a hot tub to be broken into. Not only did we succeed in those three goals, we actually made a couple of friends join us and broke our previous record of most people in our apartment at one time … we are up to five now. So to us, White Trash Wednesday at the Sandbar was a success and might have to become a ritual.
If you are looking for Ashley Hall, she will be the one on the dance floor with what some people might call unique, but she calls awesome, moves.
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