Hooking Up at the Bar

For most of my life, I've been shy, withdrawn, quiet and self-conscious. Social situations always made me uncomfortable. I had an irrational anger toward groups of people laughing, saw them as a clique when all they may have been was a group of people I didn't know and wasn't talking to. I'm not the sort to sidle up to people I don't know or know only casually, and join in the conversation. This may come as a surprise to readers familiar with my long-winded daily musings, but I'm a horrible conversationalist. I often find myself standing with a group of people with little to add, and attempts at starting a new topic are usually mundane statements like, “Boy, hot the last couple of days; I like the breeze...” or “Yeah, work is busy. Yeah. Work....” followed by an uncomfortable silence. My ineptness at social gatherings is exacerbated by self-esteem issues that, while I've long since recognized as being potentially false, still lurk in my subconscious. I know the group of people laughing probably aren't laughing at me. I know the girl who makes a face and looks away may not be thinking, “Ew, what is that thing and why is it trying to make eye contact?” I know these things may be false, but I know they may also be true, and my emotions lean toward the latter every time.

A very talented artist is leaving our company tomorrow, and while I would have enjoyed going out to a group lunch his co-workers instead set up a happy hour for tonight. Already the feelings of not being comfortable or thinking the “cool kids” wouldn't want me in their presence surfaced when I first saw the invitation, but some of my friends were talking about going and at one point the artist himself dropped off a business card and asked if I was going. Rey, like myself, never enjoyed the bar scene. He's much better at striking up conversations with strangers or associates, entertaining them, and making new friends. But he doesn't really drink, doesn't enjoy smoke, and probably doesn't like having to shout and ask people to repeat themselves. He worked with this artist too, and decided he had to at least make an appearance, but he wanted me to talk to other people besides him so we “didn't look gay”. I arrived at the bar a few moments after he did and as we walked in, he called his wife to set up an “exit strategy”. In 17 minutes she would call with some emergency with the kids or something and he would have to politely excuse himself “reluctantly”, and head home. In 17 minutes I was on my own.

I've been working for this company for nearly 6 years, so the people in the room weren't complete strangers. There were a few that I'd talked to enough that I felt comfortable talking to, but even then there were the same awkward conversations and silences, only louder. I'm not much of a mingler, so eventually the people I was talking to had to politely excuse themselves so they could talk to someone else. I honestly don't understand how people hook up at bars, and I may never be the sort of person who does. I understand the beer factor. I was at a wedding once where a hot co-worker and former sorority girl who wouldn’t look at me twice not only danced with me, but drunkenly called out her name at the end of the evening and told me to look for her at the next happy hour. The fact that we had met several times before and she still felt the need to tell me who she was made it clear that she had no idea who I was, and indeed when I smiled and said hello in the hall the next day I only received an uncomfortable nod of half-recognition in return. At our last Christmas party, another female co-worker might have been hitting on me, and definitely was very, very drunk. I understand the beer factor; I know I look better to them when they’re drunk. But when people are shouting over music and other people, I think there's no real conversation or comprehension to be gained. There's a lot of laughing and nodding, but no one knows what's been said. I spent part of the evening talking to one of the tech guys from our company who's sometimes hard to understand with his thick Chinese accent when I CAN hear what he's saying. I just nodded when he nodded, laughed when he laughed, and said “yeah” a lot.

There was a lot of laughing going on, and at one point a live guitar player belting out such hits as Sweet Caroline, My Life, Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da and of course Margaritaville. I can't say I wasn't entertained, but the performance was so close to karaoke it would have been even more fun if I got a turn on the microphone. The wings and mozzarella sticks were great, and at one point a girl I didn't know caught my eye, looked at me, looked away, then looked again. It wasn't the typical “ewww what is IT?!” look I usually receive either, and once more I marveled at the beer factor. It’s just as likely cheese was hanging from my chin, I suppose. I did get to talk to the guest-of-honor for a bit too, and recommended he add more pieces to his website. He may have been too drunk to register the conversation by this point, and his wife assured us that she was the designated driver.

It was a different sort of Thursday for me, definitely not the same as my normal routine of working late and going to the gym if I get done with my work before it closes. I did feel guilty when I came home and found my dad had resealed half the asphalt on our driveway today, moreso when I learned he didn't use gloves or a mask as a contractor in one of the bands we play in had recommended. It never ceases to amaze me how the cycle of life works. There was a time when my parents needed to monitor ME constantly, and now I find myself worrying what sort of trouble they'll get into when I’m not around. My mom went out today to one of the gardens she volunteers at, and he took the opportunity of no one being home and the weather being decent to do the job himself, his way. He told me he couldn't wait for the weekend because the weather was good today, and assured my mom that the sealant he got on the sidewalk would come off.

Someday, I'd love to have an “exit strategy” of my own to come home to instead.