Dear guy who dances by himself at the club,

I applaud your brash, bold, style. I honor the way you fear no taboo and pulsate to the music with no one associated with you nearby, especially before anyone else has bothered to start dancing. You seek not the easy road to meeting women for it is the lone raver out on the floor who complicates his quest for the opposite sex’s affections.

It would be different if it were 2:00 AM, the place was closing soon, and everyone was as inebriated as they are going to get tonight. However, it is 10:15, people are still relatively sober, and you are moving to a poor remix of “Bizarre Love Triangle” like a child that has spun himself dizzy. Onlookers have made the early decision to steer clear of you for the duration of the night, and some are snapping pictures with their cellphones.

It is hot in here, so perhaps it’s not entirely your fault, but the amount of sweat exiting your body at this point is rather unacceptable. I’m guessing that where you’re from this is ok, however, we are not in one of the various former Soviet satellites or current Balkan states that may be your home, so I need to ask that you observe local custom and cultural norms by not behaving this way. You know how Americans go to your country and they walk into the store you’re in and order bottled water in English only to create a loud, awkward scene when they find out it’s carbonated and try to get their money back or “talk to the manager” and then everyone disdains them and wishes they would go home? Well, this is kind of like that, and it’s just one of those things where we’re not going to see eye-to-eye like tight pants on men, the metric system, Nutella, whether or not “Sasha” is a boy’s name, and the degree to which things should smell like cigarettes as well as the issue of whether or not kindergarteners should be able to smoke them.

So, hey, no big deal, but next time let’s go easy on the Carling, ciders or any other substance involved so this doesn’t happen again. It’s a shame that the effort spent slicking back your hair and putting on your Diesel t-shirt which has all sorts of patches on it and matches your F-1 racing inspired Pumas has gone to waste like this, but maybe when you wake up tomorrow at the hostel after that annoying Spanish girl’s alarm clock goes off to Daft Punk, you will begin to put everything together and pick up the pieces. No more dancing, pulsating, or gyrating, arms raised, eyes closed by yourself, especially at 10:15 (22:15 in case you’re confused). Trust me- everyone, Diesel or no Diesel, will be better off…