There are countless books out there on how to win friends and influence people, plus a plethora of self-help guides and videos on leaning in and forming kinships and camaraderie. That’s all good stuff to know if that’s how you want to roll.
But that’s just not me. I want to roll away from all that planned togetherness and let the friendship and kinship chips fall where they may.
This brings me to the dinner party where I alienated myself from an entire roomful of people. I was dreading going, as my wife only knew one person. She’d met this woman at a playground and what began as a casual conversation morphed into an invitation to a dinner party that weekend, populated by friends and neighbors of this near-stranger.
You know that sudden shocking chill you get when you walk into the cooler room at your local big box store where fresh fruit and veggies are kept? It’s barely above freezing. Well, that’s the same feeling I had when my wife informed me that this Saturday, we were going to be having dinner with a bunch of complete strangers.
After the morbid chill left me, I muttered, “You cannot be serious.” But she was.
On that fateful night, we’d all been sipping adult beverages. I chose to gulp mine, as I was dreading where this was all going. Before long, the introductions began. “Hi, everyone,” the guy across the table uttered. “I’m Rick, and this is my wife, Missy. She’s a dental hygienist and I’m VP and financial controller, slash assistant risk assessment manager at a top 10 accounting firm.”
Well, la-de-da.
The guy next to me then spoke up. “This is my wife, Mindy and she’s a stay-at-home mom. I’m Howard, a legal conflict analyst specializing in legal compliance at a big downtown law firm.”
Oh, beam me up, Scotty, I was thinking, but Scotty wasn’t listening. All eyes turned to me and a deathly quiet descended upon the room. Perhaps it was the liquid courage I’d received or just a maverick moment, but I said, “This is my wife, Shirley. She teaches fifth grade.”
Mentally tap dancing, I did not want to say what I did, which was writing about biscuits at an ad agency.
So I said, “I’m Jim, and I’m a shepherd.”
Well, that stopped the room. Continuing, I said I wasn’t working this month as all the sheep were up in high country, but I’ll be back at it next month. Ad-libbing, I said I wore a special kind of Birkenstock sandal, a sheepskin mantle and had a cool custom crook.
Grimacing after receiving an under-the-table kick from my wife, I said, “I hope we’re not having sheep for dinner. I may know him.”
Before I knew it, the room had emptied and I was on my way home. I never saw these people again and I’m happy to report that my wife is now speaking to me.
Jim is a semi-retired ad agency creative director. During his career, he wrote about biscuits, cars, beauty soap and even had a 2-minute cereal commercial play before Congress. Despite his multi-faceted background, he has never been a shepherd and has no plans to become one.