I was mistaken.

“Up! Up! Up!” the cocky student kept saying to me, “UP! That’s not good enough! UP!!!” Up what? I was just trying to get the grasp of collecting my feet and following his awkward, gangly leading. Apparently he wanted me to grow 5 inches taller so I could match his height – never mind that he could have simply and nicely asked me to adjust to his height or something… but whatever. I stood a little taller and finally heard a “That’s much better.” Okay…

We proceeded to practice a little more before pausing again. Trying to be nice, I said, “You know, standing taller really helped me with this step – thanks for the tip.” I honestly expected him to take my compliment, but this was not the case.

“What was that?! What was that?!” he exclaimed.

I timidly answered, “Um, I was trying to pay a compliment…?” I looked around at the other couples who seemed to be having more fun than me, and hoped my teachers were nearby – sadly, they were across the room and could not hear us.

He stomped his foot and practically yelled, “No, I mean, really. What Was That! You totally broke your dance posture. NEVER break dance posture. You made a mess of it. Your posture is not dance posture.” Huh? Was this guy a tango student or a drill sergeant? Either way, I’m sure you won’t be surprised at all at what I said in response.

I cleared my throat and said, “I’m sorry, but I’m not sure I understand what it is you want me to do and I don’t feel comfortable with you talking to me that way, because you’re not the teacher. I’m paying Patricio to teach me, so if you’d like me to work on something that you think I’m not getting, let’s get the teacher over here and I’m sure he’ll help us out in a way that I’ll be able to understand.” (Can you tell I don’t take much attitude from people?)

He stared at me. “Excuse me?” was all he could muster.

My reply was, “I’m sorry if this offends you, I really don’t mean to, but I just don’t feel comfortable, and I also don’t understand what it is you want from me. I’m sure if you tell Patricio what it is you want me to do, he’ll explain it to me.”

The overly self-assured student turned his nose up, threw back his shoulders and said, “I am a professional dancer…….you silly bitch.”

At the sound of those words, I felt the blood rushing from my toes to my face. I didn’t know what to do. What did he just call me? A silly WHAT? I remember muttering something like, “This dance is over” and walking swiftly across the room to find my confused teacher, who I dramatically and emotionally recounted the experience to.

I was happy later on to find out that the offending student was banned from coming back to that class. Apparently several other students had already complained about him – but calling someone names was the final straw. I was a little embarrassed later on but was assured by the people around me that I’m not a silly bitch and that this harmful student indeed IS. I had never seen him at any classes, workshops, or milongas before and I certainly never did after that instant. To this day my teachers and I laugh about it.

Side note:  When practicing, I am totally open to suggestions and love it when the person I’m practicing with can help me with technical things, connection, etc.  I’m always happy to improve and don’t want to come across as though I’m not.  But please oh please – don’t yell at me and don’t call me names.  It’s just mean.  

I was having a pretty good night, dancing with my favorite leaders, talking with friends, truly enjoying myself. Only something was off. There was an older, stout man with glasses staring at me. And staring and staring. It made me a little uncomfortable and I kept avoiding eye contact because I didn’t know who this man was. I’d never seen him before, so for all I knew he was just some guy who came in to check things out, for the sake of curiosity. I noticed that some people I knew who were well-established in Seattle’s tango community were talking to him, but I still just tried to ignore him.

Later in the night I was standing with my friend Gregory, watching the dance floor. I was trying to concentrate on watching the other follows’ footwork, but couldn’t shake that staring guy. “You know, that guy won’t stop staring at me, it’s weird.” I pointed him out and Gregory matter of factly replied, “Oh. that’s Cacho Dante. I think you should make eye contact with him. And then you should dance with him. He wants to invite you to dance.” “Cacho WHO?” was my blank response. “He’s a legend. Go dance with him.” I hadn’t yet learned the codes of inviting at a milonga so I didn’t realize that he’d been trying to catch my eye to invite me to dance. And I sure had no idea who this Cacho Dante character was, but okay. I took a sip of my tasteless red wine, looked back at him, and and he motioned with his head towards the dance floor. Well, okay… here goes.

And thus began a very intimate, subtle tanda with a very sensitive milonguero who knew just how to take care of me… my perspective on Tango was totally changed, and I resolved never to judge a book by its cover again.