Oct 7th, 2007
Billy no-mates
What to do at a party when you’re on your own and you don’t know any other sinner in the place.
(Image robbed from Clone Industries)
Not saying that you yourself are a billy-no-mates type of person, but you most likely will find yourself in this situation at some time or other, if you already haven’t.
I was invited to an engagement party (no, apparently it’s not just an American thing…) by a bloke I know who’s son was the condemned. I went last night, alone as a result of my poor babysitter-finding skills. The whole extended family was there, and seeing as it was a local gig, you’d think odds were I’d see at least one other person I’d know, but not in this case.
I went straight to the bar, as you do. Pint in hand, I went through my options.
1. Find the one person I do know and stick to him like a fly on poo.
2. Stand very very still and admire the ceiling until someone comes over and asks me who the hell I am.
3. Stand by the door and pretend I’m waiting staff.
4. Sit outside in the smoking area where all the cool people are.
5. Stand by the bar and occasionally wave at wall paintings in the hope that people will think I’m popular but too cool to actually talk to anyone.
6. Ply alcohol into myself to ward off the self-consciousness. (Not an option seeing as I had to drive home, sadly.)
7. Search for an empty chair and ask it’s nearby occupants if it’s ok to sit with them.
I tried option one, but sadly this man was the most sought-after person there, being the Godfather. Option 4 tided me over until I realised that out of maybe 80 people, only 5 of them were smokers, two of them were BMW driving golfer types, the remaining three were hardened grannies who were looking for medals for all the hardships they’d suffered.
Options 2 and 3 were unsuccessful as I’d decided to wear high heels and stood at over 6 foot tall in a crowd of exceptionally short people. There’s only so much ‘Ma, who’s she?’ you can overhear without getting overheated paranoia syndrome.
Option 7 was my last resort, and very limited. I scanned the crowd for some younger heads, to find that the only youthful table was occupied by tangoed fake blondes with serious overhang issues who’s conversation (I had to evesdrop a little of course..) was limited to knock-off handbags and boring Ibiza anecdotes. In the end, I targeted a big momma with a load of children hovering around her like midges. She had a free chair opposite, so I went for it. I chose my approach carefully, and decided that honesty was the best policy- ‘Hi, I’m a saddo who doesn’t know anyone here… can I sit with you?’ worked a charm. She even offered me a highly coveted plate of sandwiches and made small talk until I managed a sneaky escape.
The moral of the story perhaps, is that you have to be born with the ability to attract people with your mysterious aloofness. The far easier approach is honesty, which happily (depending on how pathetic your story is) is great for breaking the ice.