Impromptu dance parties are a lesser known but essential aspect of Metrovino. Some of you have witnessed these unfolding, while others have innocently walked into a session—perhaps it's a customary theme of wine shops everywhere. For us, the propensity to break out into spontaneous dance has endured for many years, even transcending comprehensive transitions in employee rosters. It must be something about the building.
Saturday is the end of the work week for most of us. At 5:58 p.m. this past Saturday, with the promise of a delicious springtime weekend burning in our hearts, we went about our end-of-day duties. Stations were tidied, the flags were brought inside and Matty gathered our personal stemware, disappearing into the Cookbook Company next door to wash them.
At 6:00 p.m. the shutters were dropped and somebody turned the stereo way up for Wu Tang Clan's “Bring da Ruckus". Richard didn't think that loud was quite loud enough, and proceeded to break the volume knob off as the foundations of the building shook to the beat. Everybody hit the dance floor.
Sarah convincingly emulated the Arfak Parotia's mating dance in silky smooth flows. Richard channelled the yellow-tracksuit-guy in Rockers with uncanny deftness. Referencing her Colombian upbringing, Sharla dexterously adapted champeta moves to the hip hop rhythms, while I attempted a fusion of James Brown's 1964 T.A.M.I. performance with Zatoichi swordplay.
When we heard the chime of our interior entrance, we projected our moves in that direction, expecting Matty to be returning with the stems. Instead, just as Inspectah Deck deafeningly reminisced about "rollin’ with groups of ghetto bastards with biscuits”, John Gilchrist, the legendary local restaurant critic, stepped into Metrovino.
Strangely, Gilchrist didn't act like it was the least bit unusual for a group of mild-mannered wine experts, ranging in age from 26 to 64, to be throwing down outlandish dance moves to '90s gangsta rap. But this isn't to say that our dancing impressed him—primarily, he seemed mildly perturbed that our shutters were drawn, rendering the building's northern exit impassable. Pausing her segue into an unhinged mapalé routine, Sharla raised the shutter for him, during which time the GZA boasted, “I break loose and trample shit, while I stomp / a mudhole in dat ass cuz I'm straight outta da swamp". The shutter rose slowly, and John Gilchrist, the legendary local restaurant critic, patiently awaited his liberation. But we knew that deep down, he understood…
You see, Metrovino is nothing more than the retail embodiment of wine obsession. Sometimes we're so overwhelmed by our luck to find ourselves in this rewarding vocation that we just have to burst into dance! To catch us in this zesty and organic act is to observe a seldom seen facet of the wine industry at its most impassioned. And as John Gilchrist might very well concede, one should be cautious of any wine merchants who don't dance unabashedly while at work.
