HOW DO YOU DEAL WITH THE HAMSTERS OF HUBRIS?
You'd think that a person like me, who deals with fractious students all the
time, would have developed great communication skills. But no, my skills are
laughable. And nothing shreds them so quickly as going to parties where I
don't know anybody. I start out cautiously, gradually grow bolder until in the
end hubris overcomes me and I am destroyed by the gods of social intercourse.
My usual approach is to first stand in a corner pretending to be a casual
observer. I scrutinize the various groups talking amongst themselves and
weigh my chances for breaking in: couples are relatively safe; foursomes can
be tricky; to barge in on six or more is playing with fire. (You might think
that singles are risk-free, but that is not so, not if your short-term memory
is missing as is mine. I remember a party where, foolishly encouraged by
initial successes, I approached a florid gentleman standing by himself, and
said smoothly, "My name's Adrian -- your face is familiar, I have a feeling
we've met before." "That's right," he said in a gruff voice, "we met five
minutes ago." I left that party at once.)
Once I've decided on a group, I choose my opening words, like "Hi," or
sometimes "Hi, how are you," depending on the dynamics of the situation. Next
I rehearse in my mind what I know of the current price of pork bellies and the
exploits of the local basketball team. And then I am ready to go.
Now, you'd guess that, so prepared, a person can't go wrong. Not true, over-
confidence can trip you up. Once I rashly approached a group of men talking
business. One of them, taking me for an insider, asked me," What do you think
of Pete's new office?" Feeling bold I said it was a pretty good office, taking
everything into account. He went on, "Yes, but how about the hamsters?" I
pretended my buzzer was ringing and fled. But I often wonder about those
hamsters.
The other day false chutzpah tripped me up again when Ann took me to an
anniversary party for her friends John and Betty. Once arrived, she abandoned
me to do her own thing. I stood timidly in my corner, sizing up the situation,
when a matronly lady approached me. She volunteered that she was a first
cousin of Betty's and asked me wasn't I John's second cousin? "Well," I began
hesitantly, "I'm here with Ann, you see. She's my fiancee and --" Then -- I
don't know why -- I did the hamster thing again. "You're right," I said, "I'm
a second cousin of John's. Isn't he a great guy." The rest of the party was a
nightmare. I'll never learn.
At Random - Adrian Korpel
