This weekend it was driven home to me that, while I like to judge fellow nerds for their inability to interact socially, I'm not too much further up the geek-tastic "Mountain-Dew-and-Pizza Chain."
It was one of my roommate's birthdays on Sunday. There was really nothing else to do besides push all responsibilities aside and have an entire weekend of festivities. On Friday we went bowling at a fabulous, totally disgusting bowling alley. We planned to meet at our house and carpool to the bowling alley. Since we arranged for people to arrive at the house by 8:00pm, naturally by 6:30 we had 10 or so friends lounging around the living room. We ordered pizza, teased each other, and generally just got the night off to a good start.
Exhibit A:
Right around 8:00, the doorbell rang. Now, before continuing I should note a couple of important items. There had been some Disagreement over the type of pizza that would be ordered. The boys wanted the Mega-Red-Meat Heart Attack Special. The girls wanted cheese. Also, we have a tight group of friends. We don't discourage new-comers, but we so rarely have new faces in our midst that their impending presence is usually discussed and anticipated.
Therefore, when the doorbell rang and no one leapt up to get it, I meandered to the door, assuming that perhaps we had finally surpassed our neighbors' patience with our level of noise. Opening the door, I didn't recognize the young man who stood on the stoop. He certainly wasn't one of the neighbors. He looked at me expectantly, just as I looked at him. Finally I put on my professional face, assuming we had ordered more pizza and the delivery person was in a very sad state of substance abuse. Perhaps a bit condescendingly, I said (in a very grownup manner), "can I help you with something?" He looked startled and said, "oh, does 'Roommate X' live here?" As I was still blockading the door with my body, he peered around me into the house. Suddenly I hear a half-amused, half-disgusted voice behind me saying, "Betsy, he's one of your guests." Embarrassingly, he used to work with one of our friends, and they'd recently gotten back in touch. I'm fairly certain I made the poor young man feel extraordinarily unwelcome.
Exhibit B:
We successfully arrived at the Bowling Alley. I had previously made a reservation for a lane, so clutching my purse, a bag full of paper plates and silverware, and an ornate cake, I pushed my way to the counter. I had been giving directions, balancing cakes, herding people to specific places by specific times, and I was a little punchy. Finally I was directed toward Lane 10, a fine lane situated directly under the projector that broadcast a loop of a dozen music videos.
While I was struggling into my chartreuse clown shoes, one of the workers at the bowling alley approached me. He thrust a bowling pin into my hands. "What the hell is this?" I asked, rudely. I thought maybe one of my partying friends had done something Very Bad and he was showing me the evidence. Too late, I realized he also was handing me a Sharpie marker. 3...2...1... it clicked. "Oh! Is this to sign for 'Roomate X's' birthday??" The stocky employee had given us a used bowling pin that we could sign and give to my roommate as a birthday novelty!
Here ended my awkwardness of the night, but it picked right back up the next day.
Exhibit C:
The next evening we made our way to Black Angus, a slightly overpriced steakhouse that we lovingly call "Black Anus." There were six of us and we were quite the rowdy crowd. However, we had an incredibly cool waiter. He was a lot of fun! He teased us and pretended to be appalled by our less-than-savory conversational topics. We told him that it was Roommate X's birthday and good-naturally carded her, telling her that she certainly didn't look any older than 19. As we wrapped up our dinner, we heard clapping and cheering, the harbinger of birthday wishes.
Our awesome waiter was leading of pack of smiling restaurant employees, and they began a rousing chorus of happy birthday. As they finished, a waitresses set down a huge be-candled cookie in front of Roommate X. Much to my surprise, our waiter then set one down in front of me, too. Confused, I loudly inquired, "Why do I get this?" The harem of waitresses looked at our waiter and he glared at me. He put on a dazzling, fake smile, and said menacingly, "because we have TWO birthdays!" Shit. The nice man gives us an extra treat and I essentially send it back to the kitchen.
And here I am wondering why I wasn't elected to the homecoming court in high school! :-P
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