The Wrong Foot
I had a bad feeling about it as Dad parked the car and we walked in.
“I should have called to confirm,” I mumbled to myself.
We arrived just a tad early for the dance lesson appointment I’d made back in December. But surely they didn’t lose it between then and mid-March right? Arthur Murray is a business after all.
Always trust your gut. Mine turned out to be right (as usual).
The 50-something stooge behind the desk wore a tiny gold hoop earring and a fake smile.
“I’m sorry; we don’t have you listed for an appointment today,” he said, scanning the paper desk calendar.
“I made this appointment months ago,” I said, calmly, but with force. “My dad lives in another state. This is for my wedding. What are we supposed to do?”
Not much. I confirmed my appointment for the following week with Leo to make sure THAT was still on the books. I’d made it in February. Apparently the more recent timing made it a little easier; our appointment was set as expected.
Finding a Beat
With this bad taste in my mouth, Leo and I entered a week later, ready to learn a few steps for our first dance as husband and wife.
A wedding dance.
The greasy manager I’d met the week before greeted us. I couldn’t smile as a I shook his hand, but he didn’t seem to remember me. Leo and I changed our shoes and headed onto the dance floor with our instructor, Michael. I liked him.
He immediately thanked us for picking “a good song, one that’s easy to dance to.”
Apparently, our song is a foxtrot. So back, back, quick, quick. Or, if you’re the guy: forward, forward, quick, quick. The “quick quick” part is a side step. Michael explained this basic step and Leo and I set out across the dance floor. Then, we learned a turning move so that we could dance ourselves out of a corner.
We had a blast. The bad taste in my mouth forgotten, I laughed and smiled as Leo led me around. I figured this would be fun, but I was surprised at the surge of love I had, moving around the dance floor with my future husband. We stumbled a few times, laughed about it, and kept going. The 30-minute lesson flew by.
Two Left Feet
Then Michael led us over to a small, dark table in the corner. Suddenly, I wanted a piece of gum. He sat us down, talked to us about what we were hoping to accomplish. We explained our low expectations: lack of talent combined with hopes to learn very basic steps to one song so we could dance for two minutes without falling over.
“No ‘Dancing with the Stars’ here,” I told him.
I’m thinking we could just take two or three private lessons to get a feel for it and then practice ourselves at home.
Michael explained their basic plans, a combination of private lessons with group lessons and a thumb drive of videos of yourselves so you can watch and work at home.
“You’ll definitely want to have group lessons, because it teaches you other steps and you get a feel for working with other partners,” he said.
Internally, I was already protesting. Outwardly, I nodded.
He didn’t tell us the cost. Instead, he called over his manager. Gold Hoop Guy joined our trio and pulled out his car salesman smile with a matching car salesman story. Did I mention I’m stubborn and hate when people try to talk me into things?
“Did you tell them about the packages?” he asked, his greasy tone pouring over me. I wanted to shower.
“Oh and did you tell them about ‘that couple’?”
“Well, we always joke about ‘that couple’ who came in for dance lessons to learn their song. Everything was great and they went to their wedding. When they came back they said, ‘why didn’t you tell us that as soon as we were done everyone else would want to dance with us? We didn’t know how to dance with anyone else!’”
Internal eye roll. Outward fake smile. As I asked questions, I’m sure I sounded irritated. I often sound grumpy even when I’m not; you can imagine how I sound when I’m actually annoyed.
I brought up the fact that they’d misplaced my lesson the previous week.
“Oh yes; we are so sorry about that,” he said.
I gave a slight shoulder shrug and said something like, “It happens.” But I didn’t smile. And I’m sure it came off as unhappy customer.
The sales pitch finally ended. “So how much does this all cost?” I asked.
$430. I looked at Leo. I paused.
I turned back to the sales guy, who sensed he was losing his sale. He then added in an extra dance lesson to “make up for that unfortunate incident last week.”
“Can we have a minute to discuss this?” I said.
They retreated. Leo and I looked at each other, both thinking the same thing: Uh, ouch. That wasn’t really in the budget.
“How bad do you want to do this?” he asked.
“I had fun,” I said, “but I don’t like this salesy thing they’re doing and I don’t want to spend that much.”
We agreed that literally cornering us and talking about ‘that couple’ seemed to salesy for us. “Let’s just go,” I said.
Gold Hoop Guy saw us stand and came right over. Leo may have led on the dance floor, but I was ready to take charge.
“That price just isn’t something we can do,” I said. “We really are looking for something simple, a few private lessons and that’s it.”
He came back with another offer: $230 for two lessons, plus the extra free one.
“That sounds a bit more like what we’re looking for,” I said, “but we’ll let you know.”
Moving Forward
Leo and I debriefed in the car. We knew we weren’t going back. I later called three other dance studios in town, finding friendlier voices and lower prices. But in the end, we found the best solution of all: YouTube. Foxtrot lessons right in our own living room.
Thursday evening we shoved the coffee top aside and gave it a try.
There are many reasons why Leo and I feel so right together. And as we took our first steps, moving forward and back in our tiny living room, I had one more.
Any guy that’s willing to make up the steps and practice with me every week is a guy I want to dance with for the rest of my days.
