Awards. Recognition for achievement. For goodness. For professional and community accomplishments. For being a “good animal”.
Awards Banquets. Rubber chicken and peas. Cash bars. Enthusiasm for deserving friends and colleagues. Casual adults awkwardly formalized for a special event.
Last week, a friend was recognized with a prestigious organizational honor – Technical Fellow. Wanting to cheer him on, i was happy to buy my ticket to show my enthusiastic support! Despite the glitches getting out the door, i arrived on time. Right at the start of the cocktail reception. i’ve found it’s always best to drink a bit at these things…
Hoping to block a table for our cheering squad, i was surprised to find “assigned” seating. Crap. i went to my table – Lucky 16 – and tossed a napkin over the back of the seat to nail down the best seat, closest to the bar. And proceeded to wander off, congratulate the winner and his family, and grab a drink…
The venue filled. Tongues were loosened, backs were slapped, and festive gossip exchanged. Time to sit down – and my first chance to meet my table mates for the evening. Je-aysoos Ke-rist on a Podium! On my right? A annoying former colleague with his third wife. His second wife was a pretty good friend, and i hadn’t realized they divorced. Awkward. On my left? Our organizational corporate development officer (CDO), who was physically wrapped around her apparent date for the evening – the Operations Chief from Organization Y.
Looking over at the next table, i noticed my office folks – people i truly enjoy! A Redneck PhD who is our division Tech Director. Snarky, direct and big fun! Oooh – an empty seat next to him! On the other side of the vacant seat? The Big Man! PhD Physicist from Alabama – who is always a delight! DOUBLE CRAP! Too rude at this point for me to get up and move…
The formalities began, and it wasn’t until the invocation that i caught my tactical error. During the prayer, while others had their heads bowed, i was staring blankly into space, humming a Joe Cocker tune, and thinking through my “to do” list for the next day*. And noticed that i was at Table 17. Furtive glance to my right… That empty seat? An abandoned blue napkin was perched on the back. It was mine. DAMN, DAMN, DAMN! Stuck… Trapped, like a politician in an airport toilet stall…
The meal might have been pleasant. Colleague to my right was fine – we talked about past projects, his new wife seemed bright and engaging. To my left? Ms. CDO was incessantly groping her date – a tall ‘suit’, who couldn’t be a bigger professional zero if he were made of cellophane. Ms. CDO? Divorced mother of several. Doesn’t just sweat desperation – it comes from every orifice, Ebola-like.
We had one brief conversation about a year ago – regarding being single and mid-40’s. i mentioned that i was having a good time dating many gentlemen and doing my own thing. She wanted to meet for lunch – because she was having a hard time meeting men. Tempting to tell her to stop bringing her living room furniture along on the second date and perhaps things would go a bit better… Somehow never managed to get that lunch on my calendar…
Mid-way through dinner, i was compelled to send an e-mail to my friend, the goose-slayer. “I paid $33 to watch CDO eat dinner with her arm wrapped around the thigh of your counterpart in Organization Y”. His reply: “Ha! I got that for free at a formal dinner last week”.
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* i’ve already conceded eternity in hell. why fake it?
