-Pillar-
"Can you see them?"
-I think they may be behind that pillar.-
A wedding in Eastern Pennsylvania, and I'm sitting at the overflow table, a round table in the corner of the ballroom with capacity for eight bodies, currently seating six, bodies that rank just above the uninvited and those that didn't care to respond.
Jill knew the bride years ago, it seems, but no longer. She brought Jack, a young auditor, as her date. She keeps trying to drag him to the dance floor, and his face gets even ruddier if you ask him on which companies he plied his trade. Jack has never met the bride or the groom. Kathy and William are a married couple - they teach high school, although which is the full time teacher and which is the substitute is never made clear. They also knew the bride, once upon a time.
Finally, there are two friends of the groom, Ryan (since college) and myself (since high school). We are all that's left of the groom's friends from his education days.
Two empty seats confound the kitchen staff. They bring two extra helpings of every salad, entree, and flute of champagne, which sounds much cooler than it really is.
Whatever nasty turn of events put the six of us so far down in the pecking order, it is clear that our lifeboat will not float the cheeriest batch of shipmates. My early attempts to play cruise director gave way to overly solemn concentration on eating, drinking, and career recitation. Trapped between an auditor and an accountant, (Ryan's profession) our table fast became a statistic.
What I would give, I thought darkly between sips of beer and anecdotes about Big Business internships, for the wit of Gertrude, protagonist of Pictures from an Institution. Cutting as she was, she could dissect those who bored her with creativity, no matter how deep into her cups.
Even sober, I felt my wit thickening in the doldrums until two colorless businessmen could dominate the conversation.
-I think they may be behind that pillar.-
A wedding in Eastern Pennsylvania, and I'm sitting at the overflow table, a round table in the corner of the ballroom with capacity for eight bodies, currently seating six, bodies that rank just above the uninvited and those that didn't care to respond.
Jill knew the bride years ago, it seems, but no longer. She brought Jack, a young auditor, as her date. She keeps trying to drag him to the dance floor, and his face gets even ruddier if you ask him on which companies he plied his trade. Jack has never met the bride or the groom. Kathy and William are a married couple - they teach high school, although which is the full time teacher and which is the substitute is never made clear. They also knew the bride, once upon a time.
Finally, there are two friends of the groom, Ryan (since college) and myself (since high school). We are all that's left of the groom's friends from his education days.
Two empty seats confound the kitchen staff. They bring two extra helpings of every salad, entree, and flute of champagne, which sounds much cooler than it really is.
Whatever nasty turn of events put the six of us so far down in the pecking order, it is clear that our lifeboat will not float the cheeriest batch of shipmates. My early attempts to play cruise director gave way to overly solemn concentration on eating, drinking, and career recitation. Trapped between an auditor and an accountant, (Ryan's profession) our table fast became a statistic.
What I would give, I thought darkly between sips of beer and anecdotes about Big Business internships, for the wit of Gertrude, protagonist of Pictures from an Institution. Cutting as she was, she could dissect those who bored her with creativity, no matter how deep into her cups.
Even sober, I felt my wit thickening in the doldrums until two colorless businessmen could dominate the conversation.
posted by Benedict | 5:34 PM
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