Chapter 1; A Night at The VFW

I like the VFW. One day, if I ever get the guts to go, I imagine the actual bar there to be full of real people. I am sure there are literally hundreds of good stories-plus literal war stories-in any VFW to make an evening there worthwhile. I also imagine they would get a load of pansy ass me, and suddenly question why they fought so hard for a doofus like me.

So, I went to a beef and beer at the VFW. I’ve gone to a lot of beef and beer/fundraiser type events there, and generally have a good time. Granted, not every crowd is “my crowd. “But what better way to face my suddenly self-diagnosed condition as “introvert” than by going to the ol’ VFW?

I should have known when I saw the full parking lot, I had grossly underestimated this. The event was for a family I didn’t know. As I enter the hall, there is a big picture of the family. Both the mother and father were recently diagnosed with cancer and they have a couple of kids. I was here because I was friends of friends of friends of them, or something like that. Honestly, all I heard was “beef and beer” and those are, like, two of my favorite things in the world.

Got there and it was packed. Nuts to butts packed. On one level, I was happy to see my town coming together to support a family. It’s refreshing to see these days. On the other hand, did everyone have to go and show up at the same time? Tables were full. Walkways were full. The line for the beef and the beer was long. I had never seen the VFW this packed. This is another thing I like about the VFW; they apparently don’t observe fire codes.

An Irish guitarist plays at the head of the room. He was actually quite good, but his talent seemed to be lost on most of the people here. That can’t be an easy gig, and I can’t imagine most musicians are introverts. As I begin to filter around, I do see a familiar face or two. Since they are really the only people I remotely know, I go to them. And by ‘know” I mean have a few seconds of awkward small talk, then move along.

Small talk has always been trouble for me. I am just no good at chatting about the weather. Or work. Look, I am sure your job may be fascinating to you, but it might mean bupkus to me. I also expect no one to be blown away by what I do to keep the lights on and my belly full. It goes both ways, and I am aware and appreciate that. Unless I have a solid joke or line to start with, I suck at small talk. Externally< I am talking about weather, internally I am thinking, “Man, have you gained a bunch of weight?” or “Is that pretty blonde checking me out?” (No, of course, she wasn’t.)

I grab a quick beer and head over to the chow line. I get all my protein and head back to sit with my group. I sit down and of course, unconsciously pick the worst spot to hear or engage in any conversation. I sit so the music is behind me and I am facing the entrance of the room. It’s so loud I can barely hear, and I face this constant stream of new faces coming in. I am horrible at numbers, but let’s just say there’s over 300 people in this room and counting. There are so many people, you can’t even see the asbestos tile flooring that I am sure is in every other VFW hall. I have successfully locked myself into this position.

Being the mooch that I am, I plow through my plate. I am still hungry. Now, here’s my sitch; I can leave the table, squeeze through the chairs, squirm past dozens of folks who refuse to get out of my way, actually interact with the nice kids dishing out the food, and fight the crowd to again return to my cramped table. OR, I can just sit there, and eat the plate of grody party mix that I am sure has been already handled by dozens of strangers who didn’t wash their hands after going to the bathroom. So, party mix it is!

II have previously remedied these situations by setting up camp at the bar and just never leaving. I’d drink till I either got somewhat social or somewhat shit faced. I am actually trying NOT to do that these days, so I only have 2 beers all night; a performance worthy of some sort of chip.

As I sit there, I see another couple, and with my newly minted introvert super powers, I can just tell they are both introverts. While they, too, are sitting at one of these long tables, they are just by themselves. I can tell, they are “present in the moment” but they are not social. They seem to be OK. I continue to look around the room at all these strange faces. All of them, and they are not making eye contact with me. That’s fine, because it would freak me the hell out if I got eye contact back. Even that blonde is doing ace work avoiding my sultry gaze.

I can feel my social anxiety rise as more faces wash in the tide at the entrance and cascade the 3 steps down to the asbestos tile floor. Don’t these people have a place to go? Oh, right, this is their place to go tonight; who isn’t down for the challenge of all you can eat and drink for $25? Hell, that’s enough to get me out of the house. I continue to scan when I see the husband this benefit is for. Now, I have no knowledge of his actual situation, just to know it’s cancer. He has, in what only I can properly describe as, evidence of a recent and serious head operation. (I tried to GIS what I was talking about, but immediately stopped for fear of tossing my cookies. You’re all welcome.) And here’s the thing:

He is the happiest one in the room.

Constant smile. Shaking hands, man hugs, “making the rounds.” He has my immediate admiration. I can’t even begin to imagine his situation; his pain, fear, worldview, experience, hope, gratitude. It’s things like this that put life in check. And if I wasn’t such an introvert, I might go up to him and talk. I am sure he has wisdom most of us don’t have. There is a lesson there, I am sure.

Since I had 2 Miller Lites, it’s now time to pee. I go to the latrine-that’s what they call them in the army, ya know. And I am confronted with yet another version of introvert nightmare-no privacy walls! What is this madness? Oh yea, I forgot, all our brave vets have balls of steel. So of course, these guys have no need for privacy walls while they’re peeing on the Hanoi Jane sticker in the urinal.

I return to the hall, and even more people have arrived. There is much laughter and happiness, and I just can’t figure out why I am uncomfortable in this situation. At least the good thing with this many people is I am pretty much invisible. I think with being an introvert, you can either feel like the world is staring at you, or you are totally invisible. I can tell from earlier scanning the room, I am observer. And right now, I need to observe my ass getting the hell out of here.

I am a big believer in the Irish Exit. Ya gotta give it to those crazy Micks, they got life pretty figured out. Have good friends, drink good alcohol, something about the wind blowing and knowing when the hell to leave. The Irish exit, for those of you who don’t know is

More specifically, the irish exit refers to the departure from any event without telling any friends, associates or acquaintances that one is leaving. It is almost always the result of being very inebriated/intoxicated.

Man 1. Hey man, where'd you go last night? You just disappeared, did you take a girl home or something?

Man 2. Nah, I got drunk and pulled an irish exit. Uh... happy birthday by the way.

I’m pretty sure being shy and fed up with people also counts. As I hit the fresh air of a cold night, I can feel tension leaving my body. I really do think ‘people hangovers’ are a real thing.

So what did I learn tonight? I learned that if I underestimate the size of a crowd, I can get thrown.  I’ve always known there really are people with far worse problems than me, and I need to appreciate both more. I also think that I might feel like an introvert if I write about it.

A blog for one.