You Think I’d Admit It By Now

Every time; every single time I agree to attend social events, I eventually rethink the decision and don’t want to go. Don’t get me wrong—I want to go when I agree to it, but as the time draws nearer, I change my mind. Then, and again I mean every single time, I wind up enjoying myself. You’d think I’d admit it by now.

Take last Friday for example. I went to the faculty party…and…I enjoyed it; but let me start at the beginning. I think it was two weeks ago I got an email announcing the party. I remember seeing the email, but for reasons that probably have everything to do with agreeing, regretting, and enjoying I kinda ignored it. I remember it; I just didn’t really read it; and I certainly didn’t take note of the date or think I might attend.

The party, as it turned out was held at a bar, which as it turns out was three tram rides and an hour and fifteen minutes from my apartment. (See why I don’t want to go to these things?) In school on Friday, several people asked me if I was going. (People like me; what can I say? Winning personality, young, thin, and handsome—yep, people like me.) I told all of them I wasn’t, until I grew tired of answering the follow-up question—why?

Sonya cuttin' the rug

I considered telling them the real answer: because I don’t enjoy cocktail parties. (Oh don’t get me wrong. I love cocktails; I just don’t like the idea of wandering from conversation to conversation, repeating: yes, the weather is beautiful, and no, I don’t live right in Amsterdam; or worse, searching hopelessly for any cogent thought to verbalize thus avoiding the onset of the insufferable silence that invariably follows the insufferable small-talk made by two people who are simutaneously wondering how they wound up in each other’s company. See why I hate these things?)

As I left the cafeteria on Friday, Sonya, my artist buddy asked me if I was going. Although Sonya might be one of the few people in Holland who would understand the real answer, I avoided the inevitable. “I don’t know,” I told her. Oh crap, that was worse. Why didn’t I just own up to my social intolerance? Why didn’t I just take my medicine? Instead I wound up explaining the whole story starting with ignoring emails. She waited until I finished and said, “You’re going.”

I went. I left home that evening at seven. I took the 51 to the 16 and saw the 10 approaching when I reached Leidseplein. I raced across the plaza and hopped on board. Man I’m getting pretty darn good at this! Um, see what had happened…the 10 goes both directions. Fifteen minutes in the wrong direction prompted me to ask the driver if he knew of Lloyd’s Hotel. “Other way,” he said. (He opened the doors and left me off.)

At the stop, my phone rang and I knew it was Sonya even before I looked. “Yeah, no worries, look for the big tables,” she told me. (My good friend Jim says there are two kinds of people in the world, ones who use street names and ones who use landmarks. Good thing really.) When I asked the driver if he knew where the big tables were, he did! Twenty minutes and a great conversation in the cockpit and I found Sonya waiting at the stop.

Heidi and Kate

One short walk later, I was waist deep in a room full of school teachers. Not so much awkwardness thanks to my new chums. Besides, free booze and techno music is the perfect combination to dissolve regret. You think I’d admit it by now.