Bumlets, tarantism! ouo

jackkellystories:

Tarantism – impulse to overcome melancholy by dancing 

Here’s something I like about selling papers. It may not be the easiest job in the world – the days are long, the weather ain’t great, and you can’t rely on a good headline – but there’s lots of ways to make it fun. Some guys chat to customers. Some guys take breaks and play games. Me, I’m not the most talkative sort. And I tend to be serious when I have a job to do. But dancing is fun, and serious, and you don’t have to talk while you’re doing it. 

How can dancing be serious? Well, I’ll tell you. If you want to be good, you have to concentrate on what you’re doing. You can’t just jump around and flap your arms. I know guys who dance that way, and there’s something to be said for it. It’s better than not dancing at all. But – and I mean this – anyone can learn to dance a few steps. You just think about what you’re doing, learn the basics, and practice, practice, practice. 

There’s lots of time to practice when you’re standing on a street corner, so I’ve gotten to be pretty good. Most days I sell in the theater district, so I can pick up some steps from the dancers in the shows. When a show gets bad reviews, all the performers feel pretty bad about it. That’s how dancing helps overcome melancholy. “Hey,” I’ll tell them, “critics don’t know nothing. That’s why they criticize. You want to show me a few steps? I’m always looking to learn something.”

That’s what I like. Learning. And then teaching what I learned. Sweeping the floor has become real popular at the lodging house, since I started making X’s on the floor to mark off steps. With a broom as your partner, you can dance the night away, then hide the evidence so Mr. Kloppman never sees it. When you’re really on the town, you’ve learned a new dance and can find a real partner. 

The only problem is that everyone keeps fighting over the name of the broom. Some fellows call it Bertha, others call it Bubbles, and a couple of them prefer the name Harold. Mr. K announced that it’s his broom, it’s named Broomhilda, and that’s the end of it. Not sure if we believe him, though. No one asked Broomhilda what it thinks.