Silent Disco Killer

A true tale of tequila, terror & techno-zombies

All I wanted was another plate of flame-grilled meats. I am, if nothing else, a fan of delicious flavor. But nothing could have prepared me for what I encountered.

It was our first night of vacation, a long-awaited and desperately needed getaway to Playa del Carmen along the Caribbean Sea. The sun was setting on summer back home, and my annual September sickness had been working me over for weeks. So off to Mexico we went, to bake away the bad stuff in the Yucatan’s glorious heat.

A long line of people blocked my way as I shambled back towards a paradise of meats and more. I detoured around the queue, my eyes following the long line towards its origin.

That’s when I saw them.

Source: my eyeballs and nightmares

No one knew from whence they came, this shuffling horde of mute vacationers. Clad in cotton, they donned alien headgear and “danced” on the beach beneath a Mexican moon.

Now, I come from the Hunter S. Thompson school of travel, so my mind was jumbled by jetlag, antibiotics, rum, and whatever other goodies I could stash in my carry-on. In other words, there was a chance I was seeing things.

Jen had remained back at our table, enjoying elotes and some kind of hibiscus drink, unaware of my potential hallucination. I scanned the people around me, seeking someone who could help me en Inglés. Yes, I’ve been learning Spanish on Duolingo for 1600 straight days, but I’ve always had a challenge with applying myself, so the language barrier remained.

“Disculpe. Excuse me,” I said to a 30-ish year old woman. We squared off, each holding a plate of prime rib. “Can you see those people?”

She hesitated, eyeing me warily. “Yes,” she said, acknowledging the dozens of people smiling and squirming in silence.

“Ah right. Um, what is happening? What are they doing?”

“It’s a silent disco,” she replied, as if I had just asked her to explain if there was water in the sea.

“Ohh okay. What is that?”

“You put on headphones and listen to music,” she said, brushing past me towards the safety of her friends. As if the entire mystery had been solved.

I was alone again, left with so many questions.

The scattered group looked like extras in a movie shoot, when the director yells action and you have to act out whatever motion is needed for background without making a sound. Their headphones displayed flashing lights, neon patterns of blue, green, and pink. Some people stood in circles while others faced off in pairs, all grinning at each other like weirdos and moving with various levels of self-awareness. Many of them flailed like lunatics. Some folks just stood alone, as if waiting to be collected by the mothership.

I was mesmerized and slightly horrified. I watch a lot of horror movies, and this felt like my inciting incident into a fever dream that could only result in my demise.

Was this a young person thing, some kind of Gen Z response to growing up amid constant absurdity? I am getting older, after all. But the people flapping like injured ostriches were not young.

Must be a white person thing then. Only my people could come up with something so awkward. But the assembled crowd represented a diverse mix of folks from around the globe.

I made my way back to Jen, desperate for an ally.

“Look at these crazy people,” I said, extracting her from dessert bites.

“What, you’ve never seen a silent disco?”

I couldn’t believe it. Who was this person supposedly “doing life” with me?

“So you just know about this,” I said incredulously. “Asians are in on this too?”

Jen and I have an agreement. If one of us has to explain something obvious to the other, we do so as if the other person is a moron. I actually never agreed to this compact, but it seems to work for her.

Ever the astute behavioral psychologist, she softened the blow of thinking I was an idiot by passing me a shot of tequila. She knows me well enough. We threw back our shots and went for a closer look, which is exactly what you should not do in a horror movie. We would at least hold to the cardinal rule of those flicks, which is to never split up.

Look, I’m known for immersive journalistic antics. I’ve gotten into all sorts of shenanigans, from getting tear gassed at a G-20 summit to searching for ghosts with strangers in allegedly haunted places across America. I once even spent all night exploring a haunted prison, only to end up attending an impromptu seance at 3 a.m. in the jail where they filmed The Shawshank Redemption. The point is that I’ve seen some weird shit in service of a good story, but there was no way in hell I was about to put on one of those brain-control apparatuses and stand in a circle with strangers on the sand. I had found my limit, and it was a silent disco.

Were they all listening to the same song? If so, this was officially the dumbest thing ever. We already have a solution for that. The DJ just plays the sound into the open air, and everyone hears the same song. You know, like normal.

One woman was really taken with the experience, singing loudly and horridly. Maybe the idea is that people with voices like shrieking eels get the opportunity to not hear themselves sing. But why make the rest of us suffer?

“The lights indicate what music you’re listening to,” explained Jen, putting another Mai Tai in my hand. “So you can connect with people I think.”

Again, I had a solution for connecting with other people involving a method whereby you approach someone and speak words to them. But I held my tongue.

“But what do you do when you walk up to someone? Point to your headphones and grin like a maniacal idiot? Stand there and bop like a serial killer making non-stop eye contact?”

On cue, one of the loners approached a small group and fell right in, like a quartet of chickens schooled in Backstreet Boys choreography. A scene from Invasion of the Body Snatchers flashed through my mind.

I tried to imagine who this activity would be good for.

Are you in a loveless relationship and hate speaking to your partner but still wanna go out dancing together? Try silent disco.

One guy’s wife was passed out cold, and he just went on bebopping next to what might have been her actual corpse.

“Look at that woman. She could be dead, and no one would even know.”

Jen shrugged. “At least they’re both listening to the green light song.”

“True. If I ever end up on vacation with your lifeless body I’ll be sure to sign you up for all the same activities.”

“Ooh nice, take me jet skiing,” she said, sipping her Aperol Spritz through a straw and swaying like Janice from The Muppets.

Here’s some of my found footage horror movie from that night…

I realized two things standing there in paradise, watching yet another omen of societal malfunction.

First, “Till death do us part” isn’t nearly ambitious enough for Jen.

But also, Silent Disco Killer would be a, umm, killer movie title.

They never heard it coming because, well...

Look, if you’ve ever participated in a silent disco, I won’t judge you, but only because I wasn’t there.

I’m not saying I won’t ever participate in a silent disco because you never know. Perhaps one day I’ll be faced with a choice between silent disco and something truly terrifying, like a scenario from Saw or line dancing.

But at least when the end comes, I won’t be wearing glow-in-the-dark earmuffs.

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Your Turn: Do you know about silent discos? Ever attended one? Tell me more!