Anyone who makes it through the terabyte-long digital line is immediately faced with another challenge — talking to their dancer friends. Normally, conversations are easy, the weather and shared interests are nice go-to’s. The herculean labor of dancing in THON creates hurdles every friend of a dancer must face. 

Bringing up the wrong thing can quickly lead to disaster, bringing your brave friend’s spirit to unprecedented lows and maybe even killing them. If that happens, it’s all your fault. 

So what topics are good? Sorry, I won’t be covering that. Instead, I’ll be illustrating what to avoid. I’ll let you readers figure the rest out. Hey, the most creative thinking comes from hard limits, you’ll figure it out. Just don’t screw up.

The Time

One of the most repeated commandments for floor pass conduct goes something like this: Thou shalt never regard the time in a dancer’s presence. This rule was chiseled in stone long ago and echoes through the BJC. Pulling a 46-hour dancing bender will mess with anyone’s circadian rhythm, and the authorities on high prefer to keep it that way. All their effort will be lost if you spill the beans. It’s not confirmed, but I wouldn’t be surprised if you don’t make it through the weekend if you break this rule. 

If a dancer does discover the time, only bad can happen. If the end is far away, their spirits will break and they’ll collapse before your eyes. If it’s close, your dancer’s body will give out, saying “We’re almost there anyway.” Almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, my friend. Keep quiet.

Dance Lessons

It’s a known fact that the dancing involved in THON isn’t always dancing, but there’s no need to bring it up. Now’s not the time for a dance lesson. With 46 hours to get through, who can blame them for swaying every once in a while? In fact, I think swaying is pretty remarkable under the circumstances. They’re not trying to win anything here. Respect the sway.

Mentioning their lack of moves can only lead to disaster. The dancers will agree with you, angry at themselves for not boogieing down hard enough. All of a sudden, they’ll change their ways, busting out the most spectacular moves you’ll ever see — moves that the king of pop wishes he could pull off. 

This seems like it would be fun to see, but it’s not. No one can hold a groove for long. This is a marathon, not a race. Even the stankiest of legs can only be maintained for a few minutes before the body breaks down on the cellular level. This also seems like it would be fun to see, but it isn’t either. Let them stick to the sway. Keep your stanky legs far away from them.

The Smog

An ominous fog has hung in the air since practically the beginning. It’s a thick one, and it’s a mean one. The clouds billow through every room in the maze that is the Bryce Jordan Center, swirling through every nook and cranny in the place. It’s only getting thicker, I’m afraid. Soon enough, the stage will become a hazy mystery from the stands. The dancers will be faint gray dots in a gray stadium on a gray campus in a gray state. Poor air quality doesn’t mix well with the physical challenge our dancers are going through.

It’s our job to keep this fact from them. All their focus has shifted to staying vertical, so their sensory perception takes most of the hits. This is a good thing. If they become aware of the smog that surrounds them, paranoia will take the wheel. When what they’ve just heard fully registers (about five minutes), they’ll begin to see it themselves. Their version will be far worse than reality, though. More like the movie “The Fog” than the LA smog. Heart rate will increase, pumping the fear hormones through their system. They’ll begin to hyperventilate, sucking up way more smog than is healthy for the average person, let alone one who’s in their condition.

From there, who knows what’ll happen. Science hasn’t figured that out yet. It has figured this out, though — it will be entirely your fault. Pollution is something better kept to oneself.

Sitting

We take sitting for granted in the outside world. We do it every day. THON dancers don’t have this luxury. Don’t make them jealous. It’s rude, and more than a little immoral. In their standing slumber, THON dancers dream only of chairs — not even the big poofy, comfortable kind. They dream of rickety old uncomfortable wooden chairs, the bare minimum. The kinds that probably hurt more than standing. But hey, at least you’re sitting. 

Mentioning sitting to a THON dancer can cause irreparable damage, with the severity increasing every minute. The best you can hope for is a little drool and some broken spirits. That’s if you’re lucky. In most cases, their knees will buckle at the very thought. The more unstable ones will hallucinate extensive seating accommodations — heaven’s waiting room. They’ll plop right down on the mirage. Then it’s your fault. 

Alright, alright. Steering clear of chair talks is common sense. But that’s not enough. THON dancers are starved for chairs. They hear it in everything. Their seat-starved minds will transform anything into seating. So, here are some chair-adjacent topics to avoid: Drizzy Drake’s famous line from “God’s Plan,” Otis Redding’s banger “Sittin on the Dock of the Bay,” the classic “Sittin on the Toilet” Vine, and most of all, Ilf & Petrov’s classic novel. That’ll just make them cry.

How Bad They Look

You finally make it to the floor and track down your friend. They look terrible. Fading in and out, talking to imaginary friends, clearly on the edge of something frightening. Food is encrusted in places it shouldn’t be. Drool stains form a line down all of their clothes. They fade in and out of consciousness mid-conversation. They speak to people around you who aren’t there. Don’t worry, this is completely normal. They’re having fun. 

The primary directive for interactions with people in this state is the same as for the boogieman. If you acknowledge its existence, it only makes things worse. Your friend’s appearance will worsen. Their eye bags will sag to the jawline, their spine will resemble an old man’s cane, and a groaning sound will emit from them that has no discernible source. 

So, if you like your friend at all, please look for another topic. If you don’t like them, by all means, but I won’t be happy about it.

Your Pain & Suffering

I know you’re tired. We’re all tired, but get it out of your system before you head down. I’ll go first. My feet hurt, my eyes won’t open all the way, my knees are buckled permanently, and there’s a ginger-haired hallucination sitting next to me. I get it. We all get it, but the dancers don’t need to hear it. It’ll only make things worse. 

Instead, put on an air of perfect health. If you appear the slightest bit disheveled, they’ll sniff it out and only bad things will follow. The dancers are in a place that none of us (except past dancers and marathon runners) can relate to. Forty-six hours is way longer than anyone should be awake, let alone dance. 

Your problems may seem big to you. Navigating THON is a nightmare — everything is organized with the grace of a packed airport and you have to drop — but if that’s a nightmare, dancing in THON is a nightmare where you pee the bed and wake up in a different house. Leave them alone.