~6:00 pm on the dashboard clock. Sigh. 14 hours. And It ain’t over. ‘Tis the Season. For office holiday parties.
It’s a short drive to the event, from Work, from the office, to a suburban restaurant. The car edges forward, held back by rush hour traffic, the stop and go, and a sea of red tail lights lighting up the darkness.
How does one makes sense of it? The 360° turn. The jackknife. The Man who leaves the at-home comfort, the warm cocoon of his desk at work, to this. From Krishnamurti’s You are the Everything. To…You are something far less than that.
Irreconcilable differences.
The small room is crowded. An introvert’s haunted house. Small talk, tight spaces, no obvious way out.
Tracy Chapman’s Fast Car…You got a fast car – I got a plan to get us out of here.
The small talk. The dread. The ever-present doom that suffocates the mind, that blackens all things.
“Hello Sir. Can I get you a drink?”
“Thank you. I’ll have a V.O. Manhattan.”
“V.O. Sir?”
“Sorry, anything Canadian will do. Canadian Whiskey.” I note my repeat of Canadian, the mind dehydrated from the discomfort, the body desperately seeking its circadian rhythm, seeking Home.
She smiles and steps away.
I swirl the low ball. The alcohol laps the ice, the ice taps the glass. Teetotaler needs to nurse this, with his one drink limit. It’s smooth, edging down the esophagus to the stomach, and spreading all over. You are the Everything.
The heaviness lifts, ever so slowly. Lightly childly, lightly. The volume of the background music rises, the voices seem to quiet.
I say hello to a colleague, asking about plans for the holidays, an open ended question that demands a long answer. I lean against the wall, listening. And not. A plastic Christmas tree stands in the corner. Multicolor lights circle the moulding.
I’m half a Manhattan down. I lift the plastic spear and bite down on the sweet, black cherry. If the genetic screws were tightened one notch, no chance you could stop at one.
It’s a sit down dinner. Introductions. Pleasant conversation. A fun “Name Your Favorite Song” party game. Key Lime pie for dessert. And a closing toast to celebrate a very good year.
Coffee is being served. I make a quiet exit to the car and out the door, racing down I-95 in light traffic.
How was dinner?
The drive home…was…Delicious.