It is 9:20 p.m. on a Saturday night.
I am running late, but I walk into the bar cool and collected as if I meant to be.
I raise my left forearm and place it on the wooden dressing room door to push it open.
Someone comes up from behind me and gently but firmly cups my right butt cheek in his/her petite, warm left hand.
I quickly use my feet to pivot my body in the offender’s direction, with my left arm still on the dressing room door, to semi-jokingly tell the person grabbing my butt that he/she owes me a dollar, as I typically do in such a scenario.
My large bag brushes up against the offender’s protrusive chest, and at that moment I realize it’s just Ecstasy, a fellow dancer.
She grabs a fist full of my jacket in the chest area in a playful way, which causes me to jerk toward her.
The right side of my face is extremely close to the front of her’s to the point where her mouth is practically touching my ear.
She says “Get ready, some Mexicans at the bar are asking about you,” in a louder of voice because of the loud music.
I extend my 90 degree left arm, which forces the dressing room door open.