Christina didn't fit in. Our Manhattan ad agency seemed to attract only the freakishly outgoing -- those not addicted to hip jeans and not sharp-tounged went unnoticed. Which was Christina. And if memory serves, she had a tragic, overt crush on one of the foxiest art directors.
We'd go a little out of our way to make her feel welcomed. She was a single mom and lived out in NJ. One my closest friends at work tried a little harder than I did, admittedly. I was a when-convenient welcome wagon.
I received an email invite one day -- a group of us were invited to Christina's non-NYC home for the weekend. She was ready to have some well-deserved FUN. We were promised non-stop drinking, the beach and some Jersey shore boardwalk action. A truly legit girls night. I remained non-committal, until the last minute -- for two equally legit reasons:
1) All my life I have hated slumber parties.
2) I was a phony-friend, I hardly knew the hostess's last name. I was invited by association only.
My kinder-than-me friend stuck it to me the day before the party. She whispered, giggling: We have to go! Look, everyone else bailed! It worked--- I remember looking over at Christina's desk and feeling my heart sink. Other precious, tenative, boy-filled Friday night offers would have to wait.
Happily, the next day I noticed a few others girls had cheerily packed their bags to join along. I will never forget leaving the office together-- walking out with our overnight bags filled with our personal effects-- a goofy, unfamiliar band passing by Rachael's desk. Stylishly, she smiled, raised her shaped eyebrow and said "Have fun!" My 5th grade slumber-anxiety kicked in. I want OUT.
A hot and long train ride landed us at last in...suburbia. This was not the beach. We turned right, left, hit speed bumps, made a stop at Nana's house to pick up the daughter, not without many snotty comments thrown to sweet Nana by our hostess. At this point, hours from the office, we were ready for a cocktail, ready for our wild, wild girl's night.
Fidgeting with the super-secure alarm system, our hostess opened the door and we all padded onto the carpet in the foyer. It was warm and very quiet inside. We sat around a dining room table, talking stiltedly while the sun sank behind us, sipping juice and playing with her (utterly precious) daughter. Finally, we were reach rationed a glass of wine and it was time to hit the hot tub. The little girl jumped up and down and reached for her noseplug.
At this point, after licking the sides of my glass, I recall babysitting was a large part of the evening. Somehow I was left alone, outside, with the child who was bubbling over with joy to have an audience. Look at me! She would paddle from one side to the next. Very good! What a swimmer you are! Can you make it all the way over here? This went on. My parents always encouraged me to be adventurous.
Let's just say that while I stood in the back yard, staring up at the few tree branches, wondering why in the hell I was standing in the quietest corner of the UNIVERSE on Friday evening, things got wierd. Christina slid open the sliding glass door. Right then, the little girl yelled OK, I'm ready! Exaustedly, I returned a weak OK! She then stood up on the side and jumped pretty far into the tub. Big splash. This has been going on for a while. She loved it.
WHAT IN THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?! Her mother screetched, panicked. It was like I'd given her a firearm. It was only then that it hit me that may have been dangerous. My friend came out behind her, eyes huge, hand over her hysterical mouth to stilfe the laughter. I stood there and for many minutes got positively reamed. I felt horrible and awkward, like a 5th grader. Shamed. Hot tub-time was over, quietly, we all walked inside to prepare for boardwalk-time. We were all completely at the mercy of our hostess, regardless of what we were promised. I recall having a hard time recovering from being yelled at. Like my ears were ringing.
At least there were bartenders whre we went, so we were able to eat and drink at our leisure. I even was able to convince some Jersey guys I was Australian, even when they wouldn't go away I didnt loose my accent. Then, like a needle being pulled from a record, fun-time was over and we were steered to an arcade. Not fun. Then home to "chat" in our jammies. Also not fun.
I woke up early in agonizing pain from the sofa-bed-bar in my back. I reviewed the contents of our girls night-- babysitting, getting humiliated and yelled at, lots of sitting a-round listening to the clock tick and no beach. I'd been hoodwinked! I looked over to find my friend and sofa-bed mate-- awake. We quietly laughed about it and I became determined to get OUT of there. We were all held hostage. The thought of suffering through another long, awkward meal was too much.
I told my friend I was busting out. Quietly, I grabbed my things, she did too, and I whispered into my cell for a cab to come and get us. All set. Freedom was around the corner. The clock ticked upstairs, I wrote a gracious note involving a work-excuse and tiptoed to the front door.
Gently, very gently, I turned the handle and instantly WAOOAOOOOAOAO! The alarm sounded off. I almost fell backwards it was so loud. I stood there, frozen, with my getaway bag in hand. My friend almost split in two from laughing so hard.
Chistina came flying down the stairs, looking horrified. WHAT HAPPENED!? Another, smaller ream-fest ensued about being a single mom and how caution is imperative.
As I was back in the penalty-box, my penance was another painful, long, hot meal sitting in the living room. My friend and I finally begged to be taken to the train station, where the two of us sat on the platform for at least an hour before the train came, but we didnt mind. At all.
We'd go a little out of our way to make her feel welcomed. She was a single mom and lived out in NJ. One my closest friends at work tried a little harder than I did, admittedly. I was a when-convenient welcome wagon.
I received an email invite one day -- a group of us were invited to Christina's non-NYC home for the weekend. She was ready to have some well-deserved FUN. We were promised non-stop drinking, the beach and some Jersey shore boardwalk action. A truly legit girls night. I remained non-committal, until the last minute -- for two equally legit reasons:
1) All my life I have hated slumber parties.
2) I was a phony-friend, I hardly knew the hostess's last name. I was invited by association only.
My kinder-than-me friend stuck it to me the day before the party. She whispered, giggling: We have to go! Look, everyone else bailed! It worked--- I remember looking over at Christina's desk and feeling my heart sink. Other precious, tenative, boy-filled Friday night offers would have to wait.
Happily, the next day I noticed a few others girls had cheerily packed their bags to join along. I will never forget leaving the office together-- walking out with our overnight bags filled with our personal effects-- a goofy, unfamiliar band passing by Rachael's desk. Stylishly, she smiled, raised her shaped eyebrow and said "Have fun!" My 5th grade slumber-anxiety kicked in. I want OUT.
A hot and long train ride landed us at last in...suburbia. This was not the beach. We turned right, left, hit speed bumps, made a stop at Nana's house to pick up the daughter, not without many snotty comments thrown to sweet Nana by our hostess. At this point, hours from the office, we were ready for a cocktail, ready for our wild, wild girl's night.
Fidgeting with the super-secure alarm system, our hostess opened the door and we all padded onto the carpet in the foyer. It was warm and very quiet inside. We sat around a dining room table, talking stiltedly while the sun sank behind us, sipping juice and playing with her (utterly precious) daughter. Finally, we were reach rationed a glass of wine and it was time to hit the hot tub. The little girl jumped up and down and reached for her noseplug.
At this point, after licking the sides of my glass, I recall babysitting was a large part of the evening. Somehow I was left alone, outside, with the child who was bubbling over with joy to have an audience. Look at me! She would paddle from one side to the next. Very good! What a swimmer you are! Can you make it all the way over here? This went on. My parents always encouraged me to be adventurous.
Let's just say that while I stood in the back yard, staring up at the few tree branches, wondering why in the hell I was standing in the quietest corner of the UNIVERSE on Friday evening, things got wierd. Christina slid open the sliding glass door. Right then, the little girl yelled OK, I'm ready! Exaustedly, I returned a weak OK! She then stood up on the side and jumped pretty far into the tub. Big splash. This has been going on for a while. She loved it.
WHAT IN THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?! Her mother screetched, panicked. It was like I'd given her a firearm. It was only then that it hit me that may have been dangerous. My friend came out behind her, eyes huge, hand over her hysterical mouth to stilfe the laughter. I stood there and for many minutes got positively reamed. I felt horrible and awkward, like a 5th grader. Shamed. Hot tub-time was over, quietly, we all walked inside to prepare for boardwalk-time. We were all completely at the mercy of our hostess, regardless of what we were promised. I recall having a hard time recovering from being yelled at. Like my ears were ringing.
At least there were bartenders whre we went, so we were able to eat and drink at our leisure. I even was able to convince some Jersey guys I was Australian, even when they wouldn't go away I didnt loose my accent. Then, like a needle being pulled from a record, fun-time was over and we were steered to an arcade. Not fun. Then home to "chat" in our jammies. Also not fun.
I woke up early in agonizing pain from the sofa-bed-bar in my back. I reviewed the contents of our girls night-- babysitting, getting humiliated and yelled at, lots of sitting a-round listening to the clock tick and no beach. I'd been hoodwinked! I looked over to find my friend and sofa-bed mate-- awake. We quietly laughed about it and I became determined to get OUT of there. We were all held hostage. The thought of suffering through another long, awkward meal was too much.
I told my friend I was busting out. Quietly, I grabbed my things, she did too, and I whispered into my cell for a cab to come and get us. All set. Freedom was around the corner. The clock ticked upstairs, I wrote a gracious note involving a work-excuse and tiptoed to the front door.
Gently, very gently, I turned the handle and instantly WAOOAOOOOAOAO! The alarm sounded off. I almost fell backwards it was so loud. I stood there, frozen, with my getaway bag in hand. My friend almost split in two from laughing so hard.
Chistina came flying down the stairs, looking horrified. WHAT HAPPENED!? Another, smaller ream-fest ensued about being a single mom and how caution is imperative.
As I was back in the penalty-box, my penance was another painful, long, hot meal sitting in the living room. My friend and I finally begged to be taken to the train station, where the two of us sat on the platform for at least an hour before the train came, but we didnt mind. At all.
