3. Welcome to the Dominican Republic
We arrived in the Dominican Republic at around 10 p.m. Part of the excitement of visiting the Caribbean is flying over the island and watching that midnight blue water go to turquoise. American Airlines, thanks to your incontinent plane, we got none of that! You stole my joy!
We were ushered out of the plane, across the tarmac and to the airport gate. People lined up and there was an assembly line where you took a picture with two women in traditional dress, and then went on your way to customs. I have to say whoever thought up that one was a true business person. I am sure I looked like hell after spending an entire day in airports and on planes, but bless them for trying.
Customs was quick, which is to be expected. What the hell are we smuggling into the DR anyway? Clean underwear? Toiletries? We also had to pay a fee to enter (this was never explained), but I handed over the cash. Everyone knew English. It was "WelcometotheDomicanRepublicenjoyyourstay" (Stamp passport). Unsaid:nowgetthefuggoutsoIcangohome. I'm sure we were the last flight to arrive. Everyone looked tired of pretending they weren't tired.
The trip to the hotel was quick. Some of the other wedding guests were there too. I peered out of the window, but it was dark, so I didn't get to see everything. I just wanted to get checked in so I could go to sleep.
4. The Moon Palace
This place was unbelievable. The scale of the doorways and the height of the ceilings just made you feel insignificant. The hotel rooms had two person jacuzzis in the floors. The bathroom was massive, with a walk in Roman style shower. There was sparkling wine waiting in a container of water which would have been ice had we checked in at our expected arrival time. Everything was grand.
5. The one in which I become G the Mosquito Slayer
The only thing that sucked (you'll get the pun in a second) was when I discovered the swarm of mosquitoes in the bathroom. There were a bunch of them, and they weren't shy. Unfortunately, mosquitoes love me because of my sweet, sweet blood type. Instead of going through the usual pre-bedtime routine, I decided to knock out some of the population before they attacked me for a fresh nightcap. I clapped, chased and stalked mosquitoes. I found a bunch under the sink and when I got tired of hunting them, I went to bed. I had a few more days to lower their numbers. Besides, it seemed for every one I killed, five more would emerge to take over.
By the second day, my husband introduced the towel snap technique. Yes, the locker room trick, which ended up being very effective. I even designated one of the towels just for the purpose of killing mosquitoes. By the time we left, their spot under the sink was a ghost town.
5. Ghost Palace
Speaking of ghost towns, the resort was nearly empty...and I loved it! 1700 rooms and maybe 300 people? You could have an entire pool to yourself. You could hit the beach and see nothing but empty loungers. It makes me a little sad because I know if we go back, it won't be the same. There is something to be said about getting away from it all--especially when "all" includes other people.
6. Flight of balloon boy
We spent one afternoon watching the balloon boy saga. It seems like big things happen when we take trips. When we were in the Bahamas, the U.S. Navy ship was bombed in Yemen. Okay, never mind, that's a truly lame comparison. The balloon boy event was not a "big thing" at all, it's just that the hotel TV was receiving a local news channel from Denver, so we got to see live footage of a mushroom-saucer mylar balloon that allegedly had the boy in it for at least an hour. We watched it till the end when it landed and--surprise!--no one was inside. Hoax, I thought. As more came out about the parents, something seemed amiss. When the boy emerged from the attic claiming that he had hidden and taken a nap, I thought "bullshit." When the police officer decided to press charges on these idiots for wasting resources, I felt a little bit of glee. Okay, no, I felt a lot of glee. I am tired of people mugging for fame and shamelessly dragging their kids along for the ride. It's bad when your 6 year old is the one who tells the truth.
10.29.2009
Vacation, pt. I
In between jobs, I took some time off. The time just happened to coincide with a vacation my husband and I were taking. It was something we had recently reserved once we were no longer a one income household (curse you, recession!). Well, little did we know a month later I would be taking the hit (curse you again, recession!)...but anyway, we planned a vacation.
I won't say we haven't done anything in the past few years. He and our daugter went to England to visit family earlier this year. I've vsited my best friend a few times. We went to California last year for a wedding, and we also did our trek to Vegas. It hasn't been all work and drudgery, but we haven't been to a beachy place with drinks that require mini umbrellas in a long time (okay, four years). Luckily we both love the beach. I know some people don't (yes, it's true), but we do.
Our destination was Punta Cana in the Dominican Republic. Neither of us have been there but a friend was getting married and it was close to our ten year anniversary (which is actually today, no applause, thank you) so we decided to celebrate with them.
1. Getting there is half the fun
Who came up with thise phrase? I would like to personally beat that person about the head. I can't see how it's even a tenth of the fun unless we're picturing the Hot Chocolate number from the Polar Express, and even that can grate if you're not in the mood for a spontaneous song and dance routine. And don't even talk to me about a cruise. Trapped on a boat on the open seas with a million strangers with only a few hours to hop a through bunch of ports? It sounds like a nightmare. I like to go someplace and stay.
Our flight connected in Miami. My limited experience with this airport was when we flew to the Bahamas for our honeymoon. I remembered that the layout made no sense. We landed and saw that our connecting flight was delayed by 40 minutes. No big deal, I thought, I will grab something to eat and wait it out. Eleven dollars spent, a greasy ham and cheese sandwich and subpar flavored hot water (because I can not bring myself to call it "coffee") consumed, we sat at the gate and waited. The plane was there, they just needed some extra time to clean the bathrooms. Woowee, take your time, I thought, knowing that our seats would be near the back.
When they started offloading bags, I realized this was not something a plunger and Formula 409 could fix. The explanation expanded to include "leaking" and "new plane" and "4 o'clock departure." Then it included "No other flights" and "Ten dollar vouchers." Just looking out of the window revealed a giant puddle beneath the plane's midsection, and the dripping from the belly wasn't exactly a comforting sight. We were off to a great start.
We were relocated to another gate at the far end of the E terminal. This involved getting onto the tram and trucking it the rest of the way. People were sprawled over the seats, napping. There was a little jewelry counter. There was a huge window to look out at all of the planes that would be arriving AND leaving before ours. One of the people at the gates announced that there would be a water salute for a firefighter that died. Have you ever seen one of these? I never have, so I figured, why not?
A bunch of other people watched too. I staked out a space where I could see (this is critical when you're barely 5'3") Not long afterwards, a giant of a man stepped right in front of me.
"Excuse me." I said.
He swerved so he was squarely in front of me.
"Excuse me, I'm standing here." I said.
He glanced down with a look on his face that could best be described as "bemused."
I wanted to punch him, but that's not really appropriate when watching a ceremony that honors someone's life, is it? A few other people ushered me in front of them to shut me up and give me a better view. I am guessing the dude didn't speak English, but rudeness is a universally human thing, isn't it? Most of the time you don't really need to speak the same language to realize when you've done something rude to another person. How can someone stand directly in front of another person and not be sorry? I don't get it. I'll have to add that to the ever growing list of mysteries of the human race. A lot of good my degree in individual psychology did me.
2. Dead Headphone society
I am usually good about packing spare headphones, but this time I only had one set. As luck would have it, this set had lost a speaker. It was the first time this pair had failed me, and I used them daily for my workouts. I twisted it around in the jack and chalked it up to a faulty armrest. Remember when the headphones were specific to the plane? The sound was pushed through a two pronged airhose, and you had to pay for these technological wonders that ONLY worked on planes? What a racket! The first time I watched "Splash," I watched it with my sister on a flight to Italy. We (our dad) did not buy the headphones. Instead, we raised the armrest, turned the volume WAY up, and tilted our heads so we could watch the screen and hear the words. Just paying the two bucks for the headsets would have saved hundreds in chiropractor bills. Just jokes, folks. My back is fine, but my neck...
Anyway, my husband forgot his headphones. During our extended layover at Miami, he bought a pair for the high, high price of $19.99. Yes, they sucked. Yes, we got free ones in the plane. I figured my one sided speaker dilemma (it wasn't a faulty armrest, I tried them in my iPod and they still didn't work) was solved, but as soon as I stuck those freebies in, the plastic casing fell apart and the wee little speaker popped out. Oh well.
I won't say we haven't done anything in the past few years. He and our daugter went to England to visit family earlier this year. I've vsited my best friend a few times. We went to California last year for a wedding, and we also did our trek to Vegas. It hasn't been all work and drudgery, but we haven't been to a beachy place with drinks that require mini umbrellas in a long time (okay, four years). Luckily we both love the beach. I know some people don't (yes, it's true), but we do.
Our destination was Punta Cana in the Dominican Republic. Neither of us have been there but a friend was getting married and it was close to our ten year anniversary (which is actually today, no applause, thank you) so we decided to celebrate with them.
1. Getting there is half the fun
Who came up with thise phrase? I would like to personally beat that person about the head. I can't see how it's even a tenth of the fun unless we're picturing the Hot Chocolate number from the Polar Express, and even that can grate if you're not in the mood for a spontaneous song and dance routine. And don't even talk to me about a cruise. Trapped on a boat on the open seas with a million strangers with only a few hours to hop a through bunch of ports? It sounds like a nightmare. I like to go someplace and stay.
Our flight connected in Miami. My limited experience with this airport was when we flew to the Bahamas for our honeymoon. I remembered that the layout made no sense. We landed and saw that our connecting flight was delayed by 40 minutes. No big deal, I thought, I will grab something to eat and wait it out. Eleven dollars spent, a greasy ham and cheese sandwich and subpar flavored hot water (because I can not bring myself to call it "coffee") consumed, we sat at the gate and waited. The plane was there, they just needed some extra time to clean the bathrooms. Woowee, take your time, I thought, knowing that our seats would be near the back.
When they started offloading bags, I realized this was not something a plunger and Formula 409 could fix. The explanation expanded to include "leaking" and "new plane" and "4 o'clock departure." Then it included "No other flights" and "Ten dollar vouchers." Just looking out of the window revealed a giant puddle beneath the plane's midsection, and the dripping from the belly wasn't exactly a comforting sight. We were off to a great start.
We were relocated to another gate at the far end of the E terminal. This involved getting onto the tram and trucking it the rest of the way. People were sprawled over the seats, napping. There was a little jewelry counter. There was a huge window to look out at all of the planes that would be arriving AND leaving before ours. One of the people at the gates announced that there would be a water salute for a firefighter that died. Have you ever seen one of these? I never have, so I figured, why not?
A bunch of other people watched too. I staked out a space where I could see (this is critical when you're barely 5'3") Not long afterwards, a giant of a man stepped right in front of me.
"Excuse me." I said.
He swerved so he was squarely in front of me.
"Excuse me, I'm standing here." I said.
He glanced down with a look on his face that could best be described as "bemused."
I wanted to punch him, but that's not really appropriate when watching a ceremony that honors someone's life, is it? A few other people ushered me in front of them to shut me up and give me a better view. I am guessing the dude didn't speak English, but rudeness is a universally human thing, isn't it? Most of the time you don't really need to speak the same language to realize when you've done something rude to another person. How can someone stand directly in front of another person and not be sorry? I don't get it. I'll have to add that to the ever growing list of mysteries of the human race. A lot of good my degree in individual psychology did me.
2. Dead Headphone society
I am usually good about packing spare headphones, but this time I only had one set. As luck would have it, this set had lost a speaker. It was the first time this pair had failed me, and I used them daily for my workouts. I twisted it around in the jack and chalked it up to a faulty armrest. Remember when the headphones were specific to the plane? The sound was pushed through a two pronged airhose, and you had to pay for these technological wonders that ONLY worked on planes? What a racket! The first time I watched "Splash," I watched it with my sister on a flight to Italy. We (our dad) did not buy the headphones. Instead, we raised the armrest, turned the volume WAY up, and tilted our heads so we could watch the screen and hear the words. Just paying the two bucks for the headsets would have saved hundreds in chiropractor bills. Just jokes, folks. My back is fine, but my neck...
Anyway, my husband forgot his headphones. During our extended layover at Miami, he bought a pair for the high, high price of $19.99. Yes, they sucked. Yes, we got free ones in the plane. I figured my one sided speaker dilemma (it wasn't a faulty armrest, I tried them in my iPod and they still didn't work) was solved, but as soon as I stuck those freebies in, the plastic casing fell apart and the wee little speaker popped out. Oh well.
New gig
I started a new job last week. I was fortunate enough to have more than one offer after being unceremoniously "let go" from my last company. There is more on that, but it may be a few years before I can recount the story without reflecting too much bitterness over it. Maybe I could even eke out a brilliant but dark hearted comedy--but then again, it's already been done (See: "Office Space" and if you have 7 1/2 hours to spare, check out the BBC version of The Office. I just watched that--hello, Netflix instant watch--last week. Why didn't anyone tell me? Okay, people did make it known, I just never checked it out till recently, therefore I will just pretend that no one told me. I like the American Office too, but I relish the complete awkwardness of the British version).
I don't really work in a cool place anymore. I used to work in Crystal City in Arlington, VA. It had its own metro stop. It had restaurants galore. It sounds cool too, right? Crystal City. Say it! It's like Emerald City from the Wizard of Oz. With all of the defense contracting companies in one spot, I'm sure there are more than enough wizards working behind curtains than you could count. It even has its own website! You could buy anything from puppets to shoes to overpriced Hallmark cards. It was all downstairs from my building in a convenient underground maze. If the weather was awful or you didn't want to go outside, then guess what? You never had to. I loved it!
I also got complacent. The new job puts me back into the crappy DC traffic mix. I have been doing alright with that...so far. I have new perk too. No more suits. In fact, apparently *they* make fun of you if you wear a suit. The rule is that you wear whatever you feel comfortable wearing on the days you work at the company office. This doesn't mean I plan to show up in pasties and a G-string (it's not that kind of establishment). I am thinking more along the lines of jeans. I can ditch the heels. I can wear Uggs! (yes, I recognize that this is not a victory for the more fashion conscious out there) I saw running shoes, sweatshirts, jeans and flip flops on my first day. People were actually in good moods. There were bagels and fresh fruit in the kitchen and not just because someone brought them in. Those things are there every day. There are no vending machines, but the fridge is fully stocked with juice and soda. At my old job there was free coffee (presumably to keep the worker bees fueled up, but everything else was about fending for yourself and hoping no one took your meager lunch from the community fridge). I am not saying any job or company is perfect, but this is a vast improvement. I will keep you posted.
I don't really work in a cool place anymore. I used to work in Crystal City in Arlington, VA. It had its own metro stop. It had restaurants galore. It sounds cool too, right? Crystal City. Say it! It's like Emerald City from the Wizard of Oz. With all of the defense contracting companies in one spot, I'm sure there are more than enough wizards working behind curtains than you could count. It even has its own website! You could buy anything from puppets to shoes to overpriced Hallmark cards. It was all downstairs from my building in a convenient underground maze. If the weather was awful or you didn't want to go outside, then guess what? You never had to. I loved it!
I also got complacent. The new job puts me back into the crappy DC traffic mix. I have been doing alright with that...so far. I have new perk too. No more suits. In fact, apparently *they* make fun of you if you wear a suit. The rule is that you wear whatever you feel comfortable wearing on the days you work at the company office. This doesn't mean I plan to show up in pasties and a G-string (it's not that kind of establishment). I am thinking more along the lines of jeans. I can ditch the heels. I can wear Uggs! (yes, I recognize that this is not a victory for the more fashion conscious out there) I saw running shoes, sweatshirts, jeans and flip flops on my first day. People were actually in good moods. There were bagels and fresh fruit in the kitchen and not just because someone brought them in. Those things are there every day. There are no vending machines, but the fridge is fully stocked with juice and soda. At my old job there was free coffee (presumably to keep the worker bees fueled up, but everything else was about fending for yourself and hoping no one took your meager lunch from the community fridge). I am not saying any job or company is perfect, but this is a vast improvement. I will keep you posted.
Technical difficulties
I set up the new template but my little navigation bar at the top is gone, which means I have to log in to the blogger site from scratch and post from there--I can't do it from my blog link. Or maybe I can, but I am too lazy impatient to figure it out. Have I mentioned that I am somewhat technically challenged? Let's just say that the six computer science courses I took in college weren't exactly my finest hours.
10.11.2009
Terms and phrases that I don't understand
1. Baby fever
2. Runner's high
3. Staying late
4. Low carb
5. I don't like cats
2. Runner's high
3. Staying late
4. Low carb
5. I don't like cats
10.08.2009
Under Construction
I got tired of the old generic set up, so I'm experimenting. I'm not sure I like this new layout, so don't be surprised if things shift again--
9.27.2009
Shut in
After a long day at the office, people generally like to head out to the local watering hole with a few coworkers and hit happy hour, true or false?
True for some, false for others.
Every few months, the West Point society of D.C. arranges for alumni to meet up at a local bar to socialize. I’ve gone to a few, but in general, I suck at these types of things. I stink at small talk and I don’t know how to work a crowd. I don’t like being the center of attention and I can’t handle more than one drink at a time. Whenever things like this come up, I consider going; it’s as if I completely forget that I don’t actually like these things. I’ve gone to a few now, and instead of networking, I wind up in a tight circle with a few people I already know—which is to say I’m totally missing the point and purpose of the function.
After a grueling day at the office, I hopped the metro with the intent of attending one of these shindigs. The bar was 2 blocks from the stop, a quick walk over, and I figured it would be busy, but not too busy. I was wrong. The host navigated me through the packed bodies to the rear corner of the bar. I signed in on the attendance list, penned my name on a sticky label, and promptly left the bar. I know, I know, but I couldn’t breathe and the weather was still really nice.
I waited in Farragut square until my friend arrived. I had other things on my mind to consider, so I thought of those things and worked on my Word Fu skills. Once my friend arrived, I joined her and we entered the bar together. I slapped the sticky label with my name back onto my shirt and we mingled.
There was a ’73 graduate whose looks betrayed his age. He looked fantastic! I know black don’t crack, but this man looked no older than 45, 50 tops. By my calculations, he had to be 58 or 59 years old. He also had a daughter who was a 2006 graduate. It is always strange to see the younger grads. You generally feel like you’re the young one when you see people with 8’s and 7’s after the apostrophes, but when you see class of zero-something, you realize you’re kidding yourself.
My friend moved on to another group, and somehow I found myself separated from the herd. While we were talking to the ’73 graduate, I glaced up and noticed a guy staring at me. It was not a casual glance, it was look that said: “Imma wait until I have your full attention. I see you’re busy, but just know I’m here, watching…waiting…always waiting.” He moved in as soon as he saw I was alone. I saw his tag and ’84 and we started the usual talk—where do you work, what do you do, how long were you in, and so on. Meanwhile I was chowing down on a mini slice of some sort of pizza, which was the first thing I had consumed in about 6 hours. On top of that, 84 man’s breath was stink stank stunk. And on top of that, the place was already loud, which meant he was extra close, and with every word, I got a fresh dose of hot garbage breath expelled onto me, my food and my tumbler filled with water. This is why I hate coming to these things, I thought. I was cornered with this guy with no room for escape. I could have artfully dodged to the ladies room, I guess, but I had my leather tote and a big handbag with me. It would not have been graceful. The guy was going on about how his kid was at the Citadel and how that is sort of like West Point. Here's what I kept to myself: we looked down on the Citadel. Once, when they played us in football, there was a spirit poster with one cadet kicking another’s ass, and the caption: at least we don’t pay for it! We liked to think of how those who had parents paying for a Citadel education were also paying for our educations, thanks to the federal tax system. Then he started in on how he had a master’s degree when he became and officer. Then he mentioned he went to OCS, which was the best way to do it, in his opinion. So let’s get this straight—not only was he basically insulting my route into the Army's officer Corps, this dude is not a West Pointer and he’s going to partake in our happy hour? Granted it is an open invite type event, but why would you want to go to one of these if you’re not a grad? I guess the whole networking thing is attractive, but this guy was blowing foul carbon dioxide in my face as I tried to nod and smile with scarfing down a wee slice of pizza and trying not to inhale. This wasn’t networking; it was torture. Then when we got to the subject of his daughters, he made sure to mention how much he adored him. When he added “I don’t feel that way about their mom, though,” I thought, “Eject, Eject!” Did he not see the wedding-engagement ring combination on my left ring finger? Did that not matter? Did he think I wanted to discuss ex-wife/baby momma/woman he intensely dislikes drama with him? Shoot, go stake out a chair and harass the bartender with those woes. If I don’t know you like that, then please realize that don’t want to hear it! Shoo! Be gone.
Thankfully my friend saw a break in the conversation, grabbed my elbow and rescued me. From then on, I was in listening mode. I only started to feel better when people began clearing out and there were a handful of people I knew who were either
a) classmates
b) people talking to classmates
c) people I have already met in passing
In college I used to make fun of people who were socially inept—guys especially. I would snicker with friends about the dude staring at me as if he had never seen a woman before in his life. In all honesty, he had seen me but I looked so(!) different (!) out of uniform (!). This was always said to me as if it was a compliment. You're dog-assed ugly in uniform, but wow, with your hair down, in jeans and a flattering shirt, you actually look like a normal girl. Wow(!) Also made fun of: the ones who sent out greetings sight unseen, using the cadet email system. You know—it’s not that hard to find someone if you’d like to meet in person, but if you want to ensure you have no chance, send them an email that says something like this:
It is the email equivalent of “Do you like me? Check yes or no.” notes from elementary and junior high school. I will be smirking as I hit the delete key.
In retrospect, I am the socially challenged one. While in my cadet company (Go Zoo!) every member receieved a “zoo” name based on their personality and an animal. I hoped for something cool—cat, maybe. I was mysterious, stealthy and independent—why not? I didn’t attend the ceremony (of course I didn't), but later heard that I had been dubbed “turtle.” Fantastic. “They” say you always dislike the things in others that you dislike in yourself, and I guess it’s true—I don’t like that I’m not comfortable in social settings. I try, though. Even with people I know, I search my brain for conversation topics so we’re not sitting there in silence. I go to these happy hours with a surface smile and a deep seated sense of dread. It’s just other people, but the entire thing is draining.
The thing is, I assume everyone else is good at this stuff. West Pointers tend to be great at networking and excelling. The two things go hand in hand—being an extrovert is valued in this society. It’s because someone who is comfortable being the star of the show is someone who other people gravitate towards. Those who are not like this are seen as rude—not wanting to engage—or even worse—snobs. I only discovered this well after I graduated. “You think you’re too good.” Was what one guy said—a ROTC graduate who attended the same officer basic course and had heard from his friend—my classmate—that I had my nose up in the air. Um….what?
So I’m working on that through going to these happy hours, friending people on Facebook and working through lame small talk in hopes that I don’t look like I’m trying to fade into the background.
Another one of my classmates revealed that he was the same way. It was hard for him to sit in the bar surrounded by noise and people. “It’s draining,” I said. “It took ten years for my husband to realize I don’t hate him when I ask to be alone.” But this person was the last one I expected to understand this. He drove a noticeable car while we were at school. He had a nickname. He was well loved and even now people know him at a glance. If he’s the same way as I am, then I guess I’m not so much of a freak after all.
My husband is another one. He was supposed to go to this thing and he really didn’t want to. This was a guy who was in sales for nearly 8 years. People love him. More people recognized him at my own class reunion than me! “I’m a homebody.” He said. “Tell Mike we flipped a coin and you won.”
Flipped a coin to go to a happy hour? Yes, married life is that exciting, folks. No we didn’t really flip a coin. He just wanted a valid excuse for Mike (his classmate) who had expected him to be there. Could you think of a cornier explanation? I joked. Tell him we drew straws.
Well, it turned out that Mike wasn’t there after all. Maybe more of us are closet introverts than I ever imagined.
True for some, false for others.
Every few months, the West Point society of D.C. arranges for alumni to meet up at a local bar to socialize. I’ve gone to a few, but in general, I suck at these types of things. I stink at small talk and I don’t know how to work a crowd. I don’t like being the center of attention and I can’t handle more than one drink at a time. Whenever things like this come up, I consider going; it’s as if I completely forget that I don’t actually like these things. I’ve gone to a few now, and instead of networking, I wind up in a tight circle with a few people I already know—which is to say I’m totally missing the point and purpose of the function.
After a grueling day at the office, I hopped the metro with the intent of attending one of these shindigs. The bar was 2 blocks from the stop, a quick walk over, and I figured it would be busy, but not too busy. I was wrong. The host navigated me through the packed bodies to the rear corner of the bar. I signed in on the attendance list, penned my name on a sticky label, and promptly left the bar. I know, I know, but I couldn’t breathe and the weather was still really nice.
I waited in Farragut square until my friend arrived. I had other things on my mind to consider, so I thought of those things and worked on my Word Fu skills. Once my friend arrived, I joined her and we entered the bar together. I slapped the sticky label with my name back onto my shirt and we mingled.
There was a ’73 graduate whose looks betrayed his age. He looked fantastic! I know black don’t crack, but this man looked no older than 45, 50 tops. By my calculations, he had to be 58 or 59 years old. He also had a daughter who was a 2006 graduate. It is always strange to see the younger grads. You generally feel like you’re the young one when you see people with 8’s and 7’s after the apostrophes, but when you see class of zero-something, you realize you’re kidding yourself.
My friend moved on to another group, and somehow I found myself separated from the herd. While we were talking to the ’73 graduate, I glaced up and noticed a guy staring at me. It was not a casual glance, it was look that said: “Imma wait until I have your full attention. I see you’re busy, but just know I’m here, watching…waiting…always waiting.” He moved in as soon as he saw I was alone. I saw his tag and ’84 and we started the usual talk—where do you work, what do you do, how long were you in, and so on. Meanwhile I was chowing down on a mini slice of some sort of pizza, which was the first thing I had consumed in about 6 hours. On top of that, 84 man’s breath was stink stank stunk. And on top of that, the place was already loud, which meant he was extra close, and with every word, I got a fresh dose of hot garbage breath expelled onto me, my food and my tumbler filled with water. This is why I hate coming to these things, I thought. I was cornered with this guy with no room for escape. I could have artfully dodged to the ladies room, I guess, but I had my leather tote and a big handbag with me. It would not have been graceful. The guy was going on about how his kid was at the Citadel and how that is sort of like West Point. Here's what I kept to myself: we looked down on the Citadel. Once, when they played us in football, there was a spirit poster with one cadet kicking another’s ass, and the caption: at least we don’t pay for it! We liked to think of how those who had parents paying for a Citadel education were also paying for our educations, thanks to the federal tax system. Then he started in on how he had a master’s degree when he became and officer. Then he mentioned he went to OCS, which was the best way to do it, in his opinion. So let’s get this straight—not only was he basically insulting my route into the Army's officer Corps, this dude is not a West Pointer and he’s going to partake in our happy hour? Granted it is an open invite type event, but why would you want to go to one of these if you’re not a grad? I guess the whole networking thing is attractive, but this guy was blowing foul carbon dioxide in my face as I tried to nod and smile with scarfing down a wee slice of pizza and trying not to inhale. This wasn’t networking; it was torture. Then when we got to the subject of his daughters, he made sure to mention how much he adored him. When he added “I don’t feel that way about their mom, though,” I thought, “Eject, Eject!” Did he not see the wedding-engagement ring combination on my left ring finger? Did that not matter? Did he think I wanted to discuss ex-wife/baby momma/woman he intensely dislikes drama with him? Shoot, go stake out a chair and harass the bartender with those woes. If I don’t know you like that, then please realize that don’t want to hear it! Shoo! Be gone.
Thankfully my friend saw a break in the conversation, grabbed my elbow and rescued me. From then on, I was in listening mode. I only started to feel better when people began clearing out and there were a handful of people I knew who were either
a) classmates
b) people talking to classmates
c) people I have already met in passing
In college I used to make fun of people who were socially inept—guys especially. I would snicker with friends about the dude staring at me as if he had never seen a woman before in his life. In all honesty, he had seen me but I looked so(!) different (!) out of uniform (!). This was always said to me as if it was a compliment. You're dog-assed ugly in uniform, but wow, with your hair down, in jeans and a flattering shirt, you actually look like a normal girl. Wow(!) Also made fun of: the ones who sent out greetings sight unseen, using the cadet email system. You know—it’s not that hard to find someone if you’d like to meet in person, but if you want to ensure you have no chance, send them an email that says something like this:
Hi you don’t know me, but I’ve seen you around and I would like to get to know you better.
It is the email equivalent of “Do you like me? Check yes or no.” notes from elementary and junior high school. I will be smirking as I hit the delete key.
In retrospect, I am the socially challenged one. While in my cadet company (Go Zoo!) every member receieved a “zoo” name based on their personality and an animal. I hoped for something cool—cat, maybe. I was mysterious, stealthy and independent—why not? I didn’t attend the ceremony (of course I didn't), but later heard that I had been dubbed “turtle.” Fantastic. “They” say you always dislike the things in others that you dislike in yourself, and I guess it’s true—I don’t like that I’m not comfortable in social settings. I try, though. Even with people I know, I search my brain for conversation topics so we’re not sitting there in silence. I go to these happy hours with a surface smile and a deep seated sense of dread. It’s just other people, but the entire thing is draining.
The thing is, I assume everyone else is good at this stuff. West Pointers tend to be great at networking and excelling. The two things go hand in hand—being an extrovert is valued in this society. It’s because someone who is comfortable being the star of the show is someone who other people gravitate towards. Those who are not like this are seen as rude—not wanting to engage—or even worse—snobs. I only discovered this well after I graduated. “You think you’re too good.” Was what one guy said—a ROTC graduate who attended the same officer basic course and had heard from his friend—my classmate—that I had my nose up in the air. Um….what?
So I’m working on that through going to these happy hours, friending people on Facebook and working through lame small talk in hopes that I don’t look like I’m trying to fade into the background.
Another one of my classmates revealed that he was the same way. It was hard for him to sit in the bar surrounded by noise and people. “It’s draining,” I said. “It took ten years for my husband to realize I don’t hate him when I ask to be alone.” But this person was the last one I expected to understand this. He drove a noticeable car while we were at school. He had a nickname. He was well loved and even now people know him at a glance. If he’s the same way as I am, then I guess I’m not so much of a freak after all.
My husband is another one. He was supposed to go to this thing and he really didn’t want to. This was a guy who was in sales for nearly 8 years. People love him. More people recognized him at my own class reunion than me! “I’m a homebody.” He said. “Tell Mike we flipped a coin and you won.”
Flipped a coin to go to a happy hour? Yes, married life is that exciting, folks. No we didn’t really flip a coin. He just wanted a valid excuse for Mike (his classmate) who had expected him to be there. Could you think of a cornier explanation? I joked. Tell him we drew straws.
Well, it turned out that Mike wasn’t there after all. Maybe more of us are closet introverts than I ever imagined.
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