There’s this little thing I like to do at 1692. It’s expensive to do it, which is why no one ever did it until me. But it’s not that original an idea. It’s just that unless you have a couple hundred dollars to blow on light sticks you’d never actually do it, even if you thought to.
We just go to every Meijer in the area—Meijer’s this grocery store? But they have a camping section. So you buy out all the glow sticks. Then you go to the next Meijer and you do the same.
Then me and Ashley..or me and Chad..or me and Jules (as it would be the next time we did this) sit in my Honda out front of 1692 and break each one and make a huge pile of the wrappers and even the sticks out across a handful of Jansports.
Then you get your closest friends, and you give them a bag.
And then when the time is right you all have a signal—like I hold one glow stick over my head. Everybody’s on the dance floor. You do this in the middle of a song. Or at the beginning of a really good one—like twenty seconds in. Everybody with the bags opens them and passes out the glow sticks.
The dance floor goes from dark, goth, freak, gayboy formal—everything everyone’s wearing—to lit up. Lit up with lights. Everyone has a glow stick. Everyone’s dancing with it. It’s everywhere. That’s how we like to do it.
“Wait till Jules comes out of the bathroom.”
“You like her, don’t you.” That’s Chad.
“You’re gonna fuck her, aren’t you?” That’s Penelope.
The two of them are all over each other.
“How many of my fucking ecstasy did you take?”
Penelope answers. “We just took two. One each, before you ask. Your lights were on. Well. Your inside light. Don’t worry I turned it off.”
“Ok, good. I won’t worry. Are you drinking water?”
“Yesss.” They answer in unison.
“Are you drinking alcohol?”
“Noooo.” “Wait. Chad. Did you?”
Then Jules comes out of the bathroom.