I survived DSU’s foam dance

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After several days of my roommate constantly telling me to buy a ticket to the foam dance, I finally caved.

Because I’m a junior this year, I figured I might as well attend the sweat-fest at least once. Since my freshman year, the foam dance has been advertised as one of the best parts of the Week of Welcome. However, thousands of sweaty, half-naked college students grinding on each other just didn’t sound like something I wanted to be in the middle of. But there I was, with my rubber bracelet that served as my ticket to the wettest dance I’ll probably ever attend.

I received an email two days before the dance stating the dress code. And then I saw it: swimsuits. I’m not ashamed of my body by any means, but wearing a swimsuit to a dance is not practical for my body type. If I followed this dress code, I guarantee I would have flashed the students attending several times.

On the day of the dance, my roommate and I spent a half hour or so trying on different outfits and testing if they were dance-proof. Once we found secure, waterproof and cute outfits good enough for Coachella, we were ready to go.

I entered the dance with my boyfriend and two of my friends, and we were ready to get our groove on. 

Foam went up to my stubby knees and dance attendees were  already sticky from the white bubbles falling from the sky. Everyone around me was, as I predicted, grinding on each other and finding their hook ups for the night. Every time someone passed by, his or her sweaty, nearly naked body would rub up against mine, and I would cringe. If I know you, I’m more comfortable being in close quarters, but when you are a sweaty and sticky stranger, I’d prefer to keep my distance.

As the night went on, more and more strangers became friends, and I saw more and more people who weren’t together at the beginning of the night start making out. My friends and I tried to dance along the best we could, although none of us were fond of the electronic music the DJ was favoring.

The humidity from the water and the foam, plus St. George’s 90 degree weather, made the courtyard hot. 

One of my friends I came with, who had been going hard all night, randomly passed out toward the end of the night. One minute she was bustin’ a move, and the next she was on the ground covered in foam. I ran to get the medics, but the closest authority I could find was a campus policeman. As I was explaining to him what happened, my boyfriend and another kind stranger helped carry my friend out of the middle of the crowd. Of course, there were dozens of people gawking over her as the medics tried to bring her back to consciousness. Even the authorities wouldn’t let us get close until they knew we were with her. 

She ended up being OK. Medics weren’t sure why she passed out, but she said it has happened at a dance before. It could have been exhaustion, dehydration or blood pressure issues. 

That was probably the most eventful thing that happened to me during the foam dance, besides observing a wall that had at least five couples making out at all times.

Note to future foam dance attendees: stay hydrated and keep a medical ID on your phone if necessary.

I’m glad I could check this experience off my Trailblazer bucket list, but I would rather enjoy a less sticky dance.