Do a Line...

Uh, hi.

Yeah...so...

So, I was Congaed today.

I know that is not a real word. But for a phenomenon this random, I feel coining a new term, however grammatically incorrect it may be, is highly appropriate.

Earlier today, two of my friends and I decided to trek down to the local comic book depository for some much-deserved revelry. On the way there, this middle aged woman essentially jumped out of the bushes with a number of other people and shouted, "Now HERE are some energetic people!" Dumbfounded, I strike a sort of pose in an awkward sort of way, as is my general response to any sort of oddity. Cassie and Denise were far more stunned. Then, the strange woman said something that'd set the mood for the rest of the afternoon;

"LET'S CONGA!"


DON'T LET THIS HAPPEN TO YOU!

Yes, this woman wanted me to conga with her. Before I could even ask the obvious question ("What the fuck are you on?"), she runs up behind me and GRABS MY WAIST. I am picky about who I want touching me, and a strange 40-something woman leaping from the shrubs is not among the privileged few. Not knowing what to do, I just stood there for a moment, shocked that this was happening. Her creepy bush friends were all laughing and going on, goading me. I felt rather dirty, to be honest.

Then Miss Crazybush here dragged my two friends into this. A strange woman forcing one of my female friends to touch me around my waist from behind is just WAY too much for me, and I just began walking away. This was some crazy bullshit, and I wasn't putting up with it. Fuck them, I just wanted some manga.

But of course, it doesn't end there. No, while no one physically or emotionally accosted us since that woman, we didn't walk 20 feet before a group of younger girls asked us if we'd mind joining them in a Conga line. WHAT THE FUCK? Did we land in Bizarro Halifax or something? We promptly told them no way in hell, and left the general vicinity as fast as the traffic lights would allow us.

The rest of the way to the comic book store was clear, thankfully, and we spent the time discussing what the fuck kind of medication they were overdosing on. On the way back, in the same place as when we first met our attackers, an older couple asked if we could stand between them and pretend tha-- and we cut them off right there. We knew what was coming and we basically told them to fuck off. We hurried home.

Something MUST have been going on today, I simply refuse to believe that the Public Gardens were suddenly causing people to lose their minds. Yet, none of these creepy people thought to explain why they were assaulting people with Latin rhythm. If they were, I don't know, Conga-Lining for Colon Cancer in Kids, then sure, I'll conga. It's for a good cause. But for all I know, these could have been just a group of wandering perverts. Or perhaps an example of the chilling scenario played above.

One thing I know for sure is I am going to SCOUR the fucking paper tomorrow. Maybe they'll have something to say; Random localized conga parties in the middle of the city at noon has GOT to be newsworthy, hasn't it?

That's it for me. Excuse me while I go wash the filth away.

- Silent G