couple Fridays ago, I was confused at the Oakland airport. Someone named “Micah” had a Lost Item, and that Lost Item had been found at Gate 23. Except I (“Mayka,” pronounced the same as “Micah”) was at Gate 29. And I was pretty freakin’ sure I hadn’t “lost” anything.
It’s very disorienting to be at a stressful place like an airport at seven in the morning hearing that the Lost Thing that you didn’t even report as “lost” was found. I’m sure this happens a lot for Jennifers, Daves, maybe even Bills, but for Micah/Maykas? It was a rare moment indeed.
I stood up but then I sat down and eventually boarded my plane. It wasn’t me.
Ever since I had an iTunes account, I’ve had a Club Mayka playlist. It’s been reincarnated multiple times with different components, but it’s essentially full of my “jams.”
Jams get me on my feet, make me bounce, rock, sway. They’re the songs of my “youth” when I was running around calling myself a “professional clubber.” We went out all the time: weeknights, winter, whenever. I went for the party, not the afterparty or morning-afterparty. I went for the dancing, so you can reason how important those nights’ music selections were for me. Hence the anchor of my adult life that is the Club Mayka playlist.
My name, though not common in the States, is not a universally unrecognized string of letters. I get Tweets from Indonesian teens, Brazilian Orkutters, and Spanish-speaking partiers all the time. Over the last couple of months, though, I started receiving more and more Tweets to @mayka. They spiked on the weekends, and became increasingly more in Spanish and increasingly more attached with photos of tequila.
I’ve always tweeted back at erroneously received Tweets because I want the senders to connect to the Mayka they intended. With all these Spanish Tweets, though, the tweeps just didn’t write me back, or one time they replied to “I’m not your Mayka” with “And who said you’re our Mayka?” (Translated.) Rawr! Still, I kept carrying on telling people I’m Mayka but not Mayka, and generally they didn’t acknowledge me/Mayka.
So it happened the day after Micah lost something at the airport that I got another Tweet in Spanish:
Per usual, I told @jorlfero I’m not the Mayka he was looking for. And then @jorlfero wrote back, and it all made sense:
A disco! In the city of Valledupar-Cesar in Colombia! How. Perfect.
I mean, did they know about the Club Mayka playlist? Did they know I used to write a clubbing column? Did they know club night’s one of the reasons I love life?
Do you have any idea how much I love this?
- I am the 173rd person to Like Mayka Bar on Facebook.
- I have liked and saved Mayka on Foursquare even though I’ve never been to Colombia.
- I have always loved the word “disco.”
- And now I can deal with all the tequila shots without any “WHY DO PEOPLE KEEP SENDING ME PHOTOS OF ALCOHOL?” hangovers.
So if you find yourself in Colombia looking for something to do on a hot Sabado night, do as the Valleduparians do, and head to Mayka Bar. Tell them Mayka sent you. And they’ll be like “Que?”
You will still have to pay for drinks because knowing me won’t get you any special treatment, but I can at least tell you Francisco R. recommends el Tom Collins y el dry martinis.