DFMO

Right after college, I moved to a new city to start working at a software company. My roommate Lana and I went out for dinner and drinks on Saturday night to explore our new hometown. We grabbed sushi downtown and ended up downing a bottle of wine over dinner as we exchanged funny stories. After dinner, a friend of a friend who Lana went to college with invited us over to his apartment for drinks. Lana and I walked in to find ourselves the only two girls in an apartment full of 15 guys that worked for our software company. We were instantly swarmed. It was obvious that this company was mostly male, and it was rare that two cute girls were at any of their work events. Drinks were being handed to me faster than I could drink them as the guys flirted with us.

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The rest is a little hazy, but sometime after midnight, we left the pregame and headed to a bar called Whiskey Jacks. I didn’t know it at the time, but Whiskey Jacks has a reputation for being one of the shadier bars in town. It’s typically a last ditch effort bar at the end of a night of drinking. They have a mechanical bull, a fog machine, and a DJ spinning sets. If you ever went in sober, you would probably run out horrified. Tonight, though, I was too drunk to care.

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Lana and I had run out of things to talk about with the guys, so we headed to the crowded dance floor. The minute I stepped onto the dance floor, I locked eyes with a guy who was my physical type to a tee: Tall, athletic, blonde curly hair, and blue eyes. It was as if the stars had aligned, and we were the only two people on that dance floor. We grinded to a DJ mash-up and started to DFMO (dance floor make out) in no time. We danced and made out all night, much to the dismay of the 15 guys Lana and I had arrived with. When it was last call at the bar and all the lights came on, we exchanged numbers before parting ways.

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Flash forward to Monday morning. Lana and I arrive to work for orientation. A nerdy software developer met me in the lobby and gave me a brief tour of the building I would be working in. The tour ended in my office where my office mate, a guy around my age, had already set up his computer and desk. I introduced myself to him, and we decided to exchange numbers. I handed him my iPhone so he could enter his digits. Without typing anything, he bewilderingly handed my phone back to me and said, “You already have my phone number.” Our faces both registered what had happened at the exact same moment as we flashed back to Saturday night on the dance floor. Thankfully, he had a good sense of humor. We had a good laugh about it and went on to become good friends—who occasionally drunkenly hook up.