I spent this evening handing out nametags to a collection of
class reunions. There were graduates celebrating five years out of school all
the way through fifty-five. Ages varied, and so did attitudes. Some guests
would climb the stairs with a smile on their faces, while others carried
themselves with an air of arrogance and a perpetual look of complete
disengagement. Some would crack jokes as
I quickly thumbed through the nametags, and other would look on disdainfully as
though they had somewhere else to be.
You get used to the varied reactions. You deal with it. Not
a big deal. But you remember who acted what way, and one of the greatest
satisfactions is watching your favorites (from either the indignant or the
benevolent crowd) navigate the evening.
Let me preface everything by stating that there was an open
bar. Just think about that for a minute. Whether I liked the person or not,
they all got infinitely more interesting as the evening wore on.
But here’s the truly interesting pattern that I gathered.
Obviously the patrons gathered based on their class year. But there were
divisions even further within the group. There was an amicable, social group in
each year, and then there was everyone else. By everyone else, I mean the
individuals who walked in in an emotional straightjacket and refused to take it
off. Everyone stayed through dinner. But after dinner, when everyone was
comfortably social, the people who’d copped an attitude with me walked out. And
not together. Either with their spouse or by themselves.
In sharp contrast, the friendly alums lingered long after
the last dish had been cleared. They spoke to people within their class, and
even ventured outside. Somehow, they found each other, and couples left in
groups of eight or ten. They could be overheard making plans to head to
such-and-such bar afterwards, or planning a dinner over the summer.
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