The Party’s Over

I can’t believe my watch- it must be broken. It says it’s 10:12. I’ve been here for two hours and 42 minutes. It seems like several hours. The second hand is moving so it’s still running. Oh well, only 18 more minutes and I will be free. I promised myself I would escape this party at exactly 10:30. I can do it. 

My planning has worked out well. Mostly I have positioned myself between the punch bowl and the bathroom. If I keep moving every couple of minutes, I can avoid most of the inane conversation. I’m careful not to sit down for fear of being surrounded by vertical talking bodies. If I keep moving I am less of a target. All animals know this basic fact. There should be another name for this event. A better label for “cocktail party” might be “people trap”?

My routine of circling the punch bowl, topping my cup with a few tablespoons of the punch followed by a trip to the bathroom every third lap-  has worked well so far. However, I am getting some stares as I head to the bathroom repeatedly. I suspect they may think I have some kind of prostate issue- which would be true but I guess  it’s time for a new flight plan. 

As I work my way into the kitchen I begin my table circling routine again, smiling and glancing around the room but avoiding eye contact except for intense visual examination of the canapes. Oh no. I made the mistake of a five second eye contact. “Hi- what’s your name?”. I screamed in my mind “It’s a trap. Run. Pretend you didn’t hear him”. I gave him the most boring name I could think of. “Hi. I’m John”. It didn’t work- he responded- “I have a cousin named John only he spells it ‘J-O-N-N’.” My attacker proceeded to rifle through a dozen common names spelled oddly while I focused on his throat. A quick punch to the throat could kill him. I’d claim self defense, of course. 

HIs wing man joined us and said laughing- “Hi- can I buy you a beer?” as he pointed to the tub of chilled beer in the corner. It was filled with only the finest IPAs I’m told. God help you if you wanted a “Bud”. He broadcast his expertise- “Can I get you a Space Kitty, a Wings of Armageddon or a Chocolate Peanut Butter Porter? We have a fine Karate in the Garage too- it’s climbing in the Florida top 10 IPA list”. I smiled and said- “I actually prefer an Orgasmic Explosion but I don’t think they carry that here”. For a moment both attackers paused and they looked at one another- unsure about whether they should confess their ignorance or laugh. This gave me a second to disappear, which I did. 

That was a close call. But on the difficult journey to safety I was bombarded with conversations best not heard like- who has the best pizza, the outlook for I-Bond interest rates, how to repair downspouts properly and the dangers of having a colonoscopy.

I noted that it was 10:28. It would take me two more minutes to exit. I smiled and nodded to all who greeted me, being careful to move along at a slow steady pace. Never come to a complete stop. One young lady looked at me and said a few sentences that I could not understand in the din of music and loud conversation.  If I asked her to repeat herself I would be stuck there for the duration. I know that was a trap. So I smiled and muttered “That’s nice” which provoked an odd look. Another trap. No- keep moving. I continued toward the door and barely made it out by 10:30. Free at last. The party is over.

I resolved never again to accept an invitation to a cocktail party- even if the invitation was a deathbed wish of the host. I also resolved to keep a list of excuses in my wallet for future use- “Sorry, I can’t make it because: I’m having open heart surgery, I am flying to Sweden to accept my Nobel prize for literature, I have amnesia- who are you? Or my favorite- I have to bake cookies this week to help build an orphanage for homeless children in Teaneck”. 

Days later my safe, quiet routine was shaken by a cell phone call, however. “Hi. You may not remember me but I met you at the Party. I did some research and got this number. I just wanted to say that your comment has changed my life and I will be forever grateful”. This was probably a trap but I couldn’t resist- “Thanks- but can you refresh my memory? What was it I said?” She paused- “After I said my mother died suddenly you said ‘That’s nice’ as you smiled and walked away. After the shock, I realized you were right. There’s no need to dwell on her death. She was mean and controlling. It’s nice to have my life back. Thank you”. 

After a brief conversation we agreed that the party was dreadful. We also agreed to meet at the park to continue our conversation. We may start a line of humorous sympathy cards.The party is not over- it’s just beginning.