Dress Your Best

By Tijen Petersen

A couple of weekends ago, my dance partner, Joel Torgeson, and I arrived to the Minneapolis Saint Paul airport eagerly waiting to compete at the Chicago Dancesport Challenge with goals of qualifying for the USA Dance Amateur National Competition. I had to do my hair and makeup in the airport bathroom because our arrival time was going to be- what we thought at the time - cutting it close to our first scheduled heat. After surprising myself with some of the best makeup and hair I have ever done, we gathered our few bags for the weekend got in line to board the airplane.

We scanned our boarding passes, they tagged our carry-on suitcases to check, and as we were walking to board the plane, the airport employee got on the intercom and announced that the entire O’Hare airport was shut down and our flight was delayed a minimum of an hour. That put us at getting to the competition a half hour before our event, which seemed doable.

We waited at the gate for more information. I got strange looks because of my large hair and dramatic lipstick-and-fake-eyelash-lacking makeup, and we were having to come to terms with the fact that we might not be able to dance in our pre-champ smooth event. Joel was communicating with our teammates already at the competition in hopes that we could get the event moved as far back as possible.

An hour goes by and we finally got to board the plane. Luckily, we got to keep our carry-ons with us. At that point, we were going to land at 6:00pm and our event was at 6:10pm. On the plane I was miraculously able to put on my lipstick and fake eyelashes in the turbulence. We landed and rushed off the plane as quickly as we could!

At this point we had little hope in making the event. We had landed at the time we were supposed to be dancing and still had to get to the hotel, change, and make it to the dance floor. We tried to find the shuttle that would take us to the hotel by obeying the simple direction of “follow the red arrows.” We were running through what felt like a rat maze to find our shuttle; up the escalator, across the skyway, down the elevators, through the hallways, outside the doors.

As we waited for the shuttle to come, we were losing and regaining hope every five minutes. In our hearts we knew that we were not going to be able to qualify for the event that we had been working so hard for. We got an update that we are on in 1 dance, and we were still at the airport, in our street clothes, waiting for the shuttle.

Then the event got pushed back even further! The shuttle finally came and we were eagerly the first ones on. The world seemed to be working against us because traffic was incredibly slow, making a what-should-be 5 minute long shuttle ride turn into one that was about 15 minutes long. Joel put his dance shoes on in the shuttle, but I was still in my wool dress, cardigan, and tall boots. We retrieved our bags from the back of the shuttle.

At this point we had no idea if we had missed the event, if we were early, if we would dance, or if we would be just in time to sit and watch the last of the four dances we should be a part of.

We RAN into the hotel (and of course the rotating door gets stuck), backpacks bouncing around, carry-ons flailing in our hands, and our teammate was standing in the doorway with Joel’s competition number and a paper we need to sign. Joel, not looking at the paper, scribbled something down. We SPRINTED into the ballroom, disregarding the fact that we need stamps on our hand and that we were still in street clothes and found that they had just finished the waltz of the semi-final round of our event.

We stared at the floor. We had no idea what to do. Our dear friend on the dance floor looks us straight in the face and says, “Get on the floor!” We have no idea what do. Do I switch shoes? Do we leave? Do we watch? Do we dance?

We dance. What else are you supposed to do? Joel takes my hand and places me on the floor. He casually asks the emcee, “Is this okay?” and she announces, “Judges, couple 239 is now on the floor.” Joel leans over to our friends on the floor and asks us what dance we were about to start.

So here we are; street clothes, ballroom hair and makeup, tall grey boots. We had no time to warm up, no number on Joel’s back, and no idea how we actually ended up on the dance floor.

We compete our tango, foxtrot, and Viennese waltz. We hear people cheering for ‘Boots!’ as I am grinning through my low kicks and inability to turn on boots with grip. Arguably some of the worst dancing of my life, but some of the most fun I have ever had.

Joel walks me off the floor as we see our pile of bags and coats. We know there is no chance we get called back, but that we would never forget this competition.

A volunteer from the event comes over to us and says, “Congratulations! You made the final! Go and change!” In complete shock, Joel and I grab everything we have sprint into the changing rooms across the hotel. My hair is now all over the place, I have no jewelry, but I am beaming with excitement for the final round.

We dance our final round with many of our teammates cheering us on. We didn’t know it was possible, but our dancing felt even worse that round that the first round! Thankfully, we ended up qualifying for nationals, which was more than we could ask for that day.

As we go up to accept our ribbon, the judge turns to me and says, “I’m glad to see you’re not in boots anymore” with a little smile on her face.

Needless to say, Joel and I had quite the adventure that evening. My takeaway: always look your best on the airplane. You’ll never know when it’ll get you to the final round of a dance competition.