Unless I am the one giving a party, I don't do so well at big events. I know how to be witty and charming and so forth, but it just takes so much out of me that I like to conserve my energy. And by "conserve my energy," I mean "shamelessly stuff my mouth with hors d'oeuvres."
I do like to make chit-chat with the catering staff, though, mostly because so many people at swanky events treat them like they're robotic servers. It makes me cringe, particularly because I often assume that catering workers do that job for the flexibility, which in turn makes me think they've got cool artistic endeavors going on otherwise.
So a few weekends ago, I was at an event in Los Angeles. There were go-go dancers, and there was also a tall, gangly catering staffer as well. He and I exchanged sympathetic looks: You'd probably like to be elsewhere, right? Were I younger, I would have been nervous around him because I'd have thought he was dreamy. But I'm at least five years older than him, so I had no interest in awkward flirtation. Thus, I was able to talk with him like a normal person.
OR SO I THOUGHT.
He had wildly curly black hair and the catering staff's uniform of black skinny trousers and a black button-front shirt and a black skinny tie. Total mid-90s DC style.
He came by with tall, skinny shot glasses brimming with cucumber soup. I dislike cucumbers, so I passed, but I did ask him: "Do you ever get that you look like Ian Svenonius?"
Blank-eyed blinking in response. "What?" he asked. "I can't hear you."
"I SAID, DO PEOPLE EVER TELL YOU THAT YOU LOOK LIKE IAN SVENONIUS? NATION OF ULYSSES? THE MAKE-UP? WEIRD WAR? FORMER SASSIEST BOY IN AMERICA?"
He leaned over to get closer, but in doing so, he tipped all of the cucumber soup directly onto my chest. As it turns out, cucumber soup looks like vomit. So not only did he have no clue who Ian Svenonius was, I wound up looking like Lady Upchuck for the rest of the night. Another successful social event!
I do like to make chit-chat with the catering staff, though, mostly because so many people at swanky events treat them like they're robotic servers. It makes me cringe, particularly because I often assume that catering workers do that job for the flexibility, which in turn makes me think they've got cool artistic endeavors going on otherwise.
So a few weekends ago, I was at an event in Los Angeles. There were go-go dancers, and there was also a tall, gangly catering staffer as well. He and I exchanged sympathetic looks: You'd probably like to be elsewhere, right? Were I younger, I would have been nervous around him because I'd have thought he was dreamy. But I'm at least five years older than him, so I had no interest in awkward flirtation. Thus, I was able to talk with him like a normal person.
OR SO I THOUGHT.
He had wildly curly black hair and the catering staff's uniform of black skinny trousers and a black button-front shirt and a black skinny tie. Total mid-90s DC style.
He came by with tall, skinny shot glasses brimming with cucumber soup. I dislike cucumbers, so I passed, but I did ask him: "Do you ever get that you look like Ian Svenonius?"
Blank-eyed blinking in response. "What?" he asked. "I can't hear you."
"I SAID, DO PEOPLE EVER TELL YOU THAT YOU LOOK LIKE IAN SVENONIUS? NATION OF ULYSSES? THE MAKE-UP? WEIRD WAR? FORMER SASSIEST BOY IN AMERICA?"
He leaned over to get closer, but in doing so, he tipped all of the cucumber soup directly onto my chest. As it turns out, cucumber soup looks like vomit. So not only did he have no clue who Ian Svenonius was, I wound up looking like Lady Upchuck for the rest of the night. Another successful social event!
Labels: regression to adolescence
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