"You have no idea what a coup it is that John came," Katrina told her new husband at their wedding reception many years ago.
"It's a total coup that he came," Courtney told her new husband at their reception two weeks ago. Word for word.
Many people say they're uncomfortable in social situations, but to be worse than me would have to involve small-arms fire. I'm not being self-effacing here. Even the few people who love me would concede that I'm a social retard. I very much enjoy getting to know new people in smaller, more intimate groups, but put me in a party environment with strangers and you will see discomfort that can only be described as colonoscopic.
Despite my retardation, I make myself go to parties. It'll be good for you, I lie to myself. This time, you won't cling to the only person you know like one of the face-suckers in Alien. And then as soon as I arrive, I'm planning my exit. Is it rude to leave now? How about now? Surely, now that I'm completely alone, no one would notice if I just bolt.
That was my thought process recently when I attended a friend's barbecue. Happily, I knew four people: my friend, his wife, and two former co-workers, one of whom called me "Dan" all night. Since the hosts were hosting and the other former co-worker is still angry with me for scraping a horrible project off on her a decade ago, I decided that I would, in fact, be Dan.
Cling!
I was scanning the periphery of the back yard for a gate when the hostess came by with a camera. Oh god. "I would rather not have my photo taken, if it's all the same to you."
"If you're at MY house, you're gonna have to be in the photos!" she chirped. And so I set down my drink and walked out the front door. I could hear everyone laugh. Oh, that John. What a kidder. Except I wasn't. I took my Get Out of Jail Free card and ran with it.
I still needed to eat, though, and on my way home I became ravenous. I neared Sarah's restaurant, and I remembered that she worked that night. Visiting someone who's already versed in me—someone with zero expectations that I would be interesting, amusing, or even kind—appealed to me. And so I stopped.
I sat in a booth in which Sarah and her co-workers revolved all night, and I was in my social element at last. I chatted with one of the servers, clearly Sarah's girlfriend, for quite a while. I learned about her dreams, her kids, her impending divorce from a guy she seems to still adore at some level. I liked her instantly, and being me, I wanted to drill deeper into her psyche. She sat opposite us while Sarah counted tips next to me.
"Sarah, can I ask her the hard questions?"
She shook her head, not looking up. "No. She's not there yet."
"Oh come on!" the woman said. "I can handle it. Ask me anything you wanna know."
Sarah shrugged, seemingly knowing exactly what was coming. "All right, knock yourself out, John."
I turned to the girlfriend. "So. You've got a 1 year old kid, yet you're getting a divorce. Wanna help me out, there?"
It was like I'd turned on a faucet, except the flow didn't gradually build. Her eyes erupted in tears, and I backpedaled furiously, apologizing profusely and dropping the topic, but it was too late. Sarah glared at me out of the corner of her eye. I wanted to die. I think she wanted to help me with that effort.
"Sarah, I need to leave now. Move."
"Oh no. You made your bed. Lie in it." I'd been taking the piss out of Sarah all evening, so I had that coming. Even I can't feel sorry for myself, here.
As I drove home, I felt my comforting "at least I'm socially adept in small circles" delusion slipping through my fingers.