I love social events. Weddings, charities, anniversaries, fundraisers, and every function in between are usually fun for me. I love putting on my best dress and sliding the shadow over my eyelids while puckering up for some lip gloss. I feel so shiny and pretty.
As I walk into the room filled with people all in black, and the occasional pop of color worn by the person with lots of guts and glory I can’t help but smirk and say to myself, “Here we go…it’s time for the show!”
First stop: Coat check. Second stop: Powder room for one more glance at yourself. Third stop: Greeting the party’s host. Fourth stop: The bar if you drink. Fifth stop: The hors d oeuvres. Sixth stop: The loudest person in the place in your face. Seventh stop: Finding your friends. Eighth stop: Finding your seat. Ninth stop: Mingling. Tenth stop: Answering all the questions that are being fired your way, which apparently defines you as a person in just less than five minutes.
So, my eleventh stop is always the dance floor. I don’t mind the interrogation by inquiring minds that want to know. I do mind that people feel they can judge someone on what they do for a living. If you’re dancing you can avoid the firing squad.
You know the drill.
It’s always the same questions: What’s your name?
That’s a must have but I swear one night I’m going to use a stripper name, Sultry Season, and see how long people can keep a straight face. I’d love to see their reactions and see if I get taken seriously.
Next question: Where do you live?
Would you like my exact address so you can stalk me? Are you sending me a Christmas card? This is where they are trying to figure out what social tier I fit into.
The Third and best question: What do you do, Janine?
Now, here is where I would love to say some wild and crazy things. I want tell people, “If I tell you I would have to kill you.” But, that is played out. I would like to say, “I am a clown in the circus, or I’m a pool hustler, no a loan shark. I’m a regular everyday Bonnie and Clyde. Or, I’m a professional ping pong champion.” I really just want to say, “Would you like my bank account number so you can check my savings?”
But, I never do any of the above. I answer all the boring mundane questions like a good little girl does and carry on with regular mundane conversation. I give into society and the norms. I give in and let them place their judgment upon me. I let them classify me.
I tell people that I’m a television guest host and I sell products for a living. I also make hoagies for my family businesses when I’m not on TV. I give them all the dirt that they want so they can file me into one of their many categories.
I’d like to think I am in the “A” file for Awesome, but maybe that’s not the case in their opinion. I really don’t care what file they put me in. It could be “I” for Idiot and I still don’t care. I know one thing, if I used my above answers to the most boring questions in the world I would be put into the “F” file for FABULOUSLY FANTASTIC & FUNNY!
I do care that in five minutes people believe they can judge a person. I will never understand how the small minded people of the world operate.
I don’t care what you do as long as you treat me right and are an honest, caring, moral person. You could be a doctor or lawyer, actress or model, a plumber or electrician, you could be the CEO of a fortune five hundred company or the person working the front desk of the same company…I don’t care what you do.
I’m not impressed with the business you make your business. I’m impressed with the things you do in your life that mean something to you.
I sell products on television and I love my job. But, I am so much more than that person you see on TV. I write and it’s my passion. I’m a deep thinker. I’m a decorator. I’m a good daughter and friend. I’m my grandparent’s favorite grand-daughter because I call them every night and check in on them all the time. I’m the apple of my parent’s eyes. I’m a sucker for children. I’m a strong minded opinionated, independent woman with something to say, always. I’m someone’s shoulder to lean on and ears to listen. I’m a shrink for my friend’s when they need advice. I’m a nurse to care for my loved ones. I’m a teacher. I’m a singer and dancer. I’m a person. I am me.
The guy in the crowd that you just shrugged off because he was a trash collector is great. He’s a comedian that keeps his friends laughing. He’s a single father that raises his kids and never complains. He’s the best dressed guy at the wedding. He’s always smiling and helping others. He’s more than you think.
The woman that is sitting there with her Cartier watch and her huge diamond ring may appear to be the richest woman in the room. She’s dressed to impress but has not won over her own family. She’s greedy and self indulgent. She was more worried about tennis lessons, tea time, and everything superficial than her family. Her children hate her and won’t even speak to her. Her bank account is full but her heart is empty.
Then, there’s that man that looks a bit disheveled. He’s wearing pants that are a little too tight. His hair is a mess and he’s walking around aimlessly. Nobody is talking to him. But, he doesn’t care. Ya, that guy he’s been working ninety hour weeks trying to come up with the cure for cancer. And, you thought he was nobody. Pray you never need his services.
You don’t know anyone after five minutes. You don’t even know yourself sometimes so how can you label everyone else by their name, address, or career? You simply CANNOT.
If you want to know the definition of the person, ask their family and friends. They will tell you all you need to know.
Maybe you can skip the small talk and the pretentious bologna in the beginning of the night and ask what matters. And, sometimes if you don’t ask any questions after the introduction people just start to talk. No pressure and no gun to their heads to feel perfect.
Or, you could simply ask the person questions that count. Not questions that count the person’s worth in your eyes.
This is not the “Never judge a book by its cover” lesson. This is the “You can’t read the first chapter and know the end of the story” lesson.
And, in case you are wondering what category I put the five minute interviewers under I will tell you. They get mentally filed under “P” for pretentious.
I’d rather be on the dance floor with the person who collects trash and having a blast, than the person who tries to collect information about me so they can talk trash.
Oh and just so you know. While Mr. or Ms. Pretentious is gathering the facts about me, I’ve already filed them under “L” for loser.
