This week I went to a work party to celebrate a member of our team. Every work shindig I go to is either at a bar or in our communal kitchen and this one was at a bar. I happen to prefer the ones in the kitchen because I can escape by going to the bathroom or feigning an important work task. Also, there are concrete posts that an extrovert would say ruin the flow of the room but function as a workspace blanket fort for introverts. A party in the kitchen also means that I can come back later and sneak away with the leftovers. I might look a little crazy, but I’m not too concerned about that when Dave and I are eating free pizza on our couch.
So I can handle the kitchen, but I’m not great in a bar. They start off relatively loud and crowded and only get louder and more crowded the longer I’m there. I inevitably end up next to someone I don’t know and then I have to talk about their boring job convincing people to give them money to argue with old people in the government. And I don’t drink much because I have a delicate composition. Like a newborn panda. I can’t even eat cheese.
Despite those challenges, I would call my participation in this week’s party a massive success. Granted, my gauge for success is relatively low compared to other well-adjusted people. Did I say something embarrassing about myself or someone around me? Not that I can remember. Did I trip and fall on my face? Nope. Did I laugh inappropriately at a serious moment? No, I did not. So that was a win in my book. It helped that I left at 7pm and went home to eat pancakes.