Ghosts of Christmas Parties Past: The Special Purpose Christmas Party

 

The following was part of a post that Cookie made back in 2014.  An update follows at the end.

Last Friday the Husband and I went to the painful, unfriendly Christmas Party ever.  Husband is a member of LGBTQ+ network at International Amalgamated.  He joined because he thought it would be a boffo way to meet people, and we have met people.  Strange, odd people.

Anyhow, Christmas was at the home of two men who live the "Loft Condo" lifestyle.  You know, RAW brick, RAW steel trusses and beams and ENORMOUS windows for all to see out of, and for the neighboring similar condos to see into.  Designers call this great sophistication, but Cookie is unimpressed.

We were greeted at the door by one of the hosts who was high as a kite, and TOLD to put our coats in the closet, then TOLD to get a drink.  Once we had said drink, made with well spirits, we were TOLD to go up-stairs to the living level.  This was a four-floor condo, and I knew we were on the ground floor level, but if the next level up was for living, and one level presumably for sleeping, Cookie wondered what the other mystery level did.  But we were told to go up a level, and up to the living level we went. Arriving on the living level, we were TOLD that they would give us a tour of their "space".  We walked around this enormous room and were told that the air ducts "delineate our purpose spaces."

"Purpose spaces?" asks the husband.

"Well, we can't very well call them rooms, can we.  It should be obvious that there are no walls.  Will you excuse me while I go greet Monica?  You can find your own way back to the Conversation Area.  MONICA!...."

(Husband turned to me and said "Bitter party of one...")

Monica, a woman of color and her bald girlfriend walked in.  Bald girlfriend, Clothilde, shaves her head to shatter the male dominated paradigm for women's fashion.  Monica told us this.  Clothilde, who we have tried to chat with before is rather rude.  She looks, and she doesn't engage, but does engage with other "womyn'.  In her path to shattering sex, race and gender paradigm, EVIDENTLY Clothilde doesn't include men in that mission.  Fine by me.

And we had been at other events where both women had been outwardly annoyed whenever I had been seated by them, or by how I chewed my food, how I breathed, how I had the audacity to simply be. Husband said that he had talking to them and Angelea said the bare minimum before turning her back.  They were both fine with the organizers, they were both fine with the people who worked in their building. But as far as we were concerned, they were simply rude. 

Anyhow, I had worked a ten-hour shift on my feet earlier in the day, my legs were killing me, and I was exhausted.

But I put on that support husband smile and chit chatted for about two hours, when my body - which was still 50 days out from surgery (two feet of colon removed for chronic diverticular disease) - started to get wonky.  I needed to sit and sit fast before my legs went out from underneath me.  

Even the husband noted that after drinking three plain old ginger ales (from cans we brought) and dining at the buffet while standing up, that the color had drained from my face.  He looked into the "casual dining purpose space" and saw that a chair had freed up and sent me to it.

No sooner than I had sat down then Clothilde said her first words to me: "You aren't going to sit down there.  There is a pregnant woman standing over there," and she nodded at a youngish twenty something with a trim figure. I must have had the "Huh?" look on my face so Clothilde reasserted herself by calling to the pregnant woman 

"Renee, git yourself over her, this man needs to git up and out so you can git off your feet and sit in this chair."

I looked up at the husband who looked at Baldy, who looked at him and said "Find him some other place to sit."  Both offended, we walked towards the kitchen area where there was a food bar and stools when the host, who was on the verge of a hissy fit came over and TOLD us to move towards the "Social Purpose Space" (reader I am not making this up) because "I spent all this money on this loft and people need to learn to use the spaces."

So the husband and I got up, and moved towards the stairs, which moved up toward the coat closet, which moved toward donning our coats.   

The man who runs the group saw this ten-minute Kabuki Theatre presentation and looked as horrified as we felt. As we donned our coats, he had followed us downstairs. 

"Fred's just nervous about hosting ... and Clothilde is a lovely person when you get to know her. Please stay."  We thanked him, but I pointed that I really did feel wonky, and had to work the next day.  "Maybe another time," and we left.

Now, all this said, and Clothilde, and the creepy host aside, this group is important to the husband at International Amalgamated because it gets him social access to decision makers.  And the man who runs the group is very nice, and 90% of the people are exceptionally nice as well.   

But even the husband was really put out by these people.

On the way home, husband said "Did all that really happen?"  Yes, it did.

Between the host who treated us like circus dogs by ordering us about, and ol' Baldy, I am just fine as long as we can get away from these people.

Just fine indeed.

UPDATE: As it happened, this was our last event with this group.  

Months later we saw the group organizer who noted that he saw we had moved, and what a lovely house we once had, and we explained that the new house was much better for hosting gatherings.  He remarked that he would love to know if we could host the Christmas Party in the coming months and we honestly said we'd get back to them, though we never did.  

Sometimes, you know where you belong, and sometimes no matter how hard you try to accommodate people, it just isn't in you to do so again and again. But these people would have shown up, used our house and our efforts, and walked out. 

But oh, reader, in my mind how I yearned to show Clothilde hospitality really works.  

You see, in our house, anyone can sit anywhere. But if I catch you telling another guest that they cannot sit in the empty chair next to you, you'll be invited to go sit on our curb.