I drove through the 2nd Street tunnel on my way to a birthday party at the bar in the Hotel Figueroa. Boyfriend of a fellow Capricorn invited 80 of her closest friends to fete her. 40 or more of us showed. I only knew the host and the guest of honor, but I know how to meet strangers. I know how to introduce myself first, how to shake hands and smile, look them in the eye, ask the opening questions. I know how to make it comfortable, I know how to let it flow.
Some friends call me a “people person.” Others, a “social butterfly.” I’m amused that it appears effortless. Apparently, I am the only one who knows what it takes for me to walk into a room full of people I’ve never met and engage in conversation.
Perhaps I should rethink my 1992 decision to give up the acting career.
I observed the partiers tonight, all armed with beers and wines and martinis, loosening the tongue, reloading when empty. I remembered how important it once was for me to smooth the way with such lubricants, hiding the discomfort I felt when alone in a crowd. Inebriation quells inhibition.
I enjoy hanging in bars; it’s familiar fun. That is, until I’m the last woman standing, and all around me are speaking another language. I’m glad I’ve figured out how to operate the heavy machinery of my mind without being under the influence. I get home earlier, I have more time to curl up with Lulu, the Best Dog Ever Made…which is really where I wanted to be all along.
I was the first to leave, around 11:30p. 3 hours is a long time to be alone with strangers.
No comments:
Post a Comment