The Wrong Party

'Tis the season for graduations and parties. Each year around this time I reflect upon an experience I had several years ago. Read about it from my fresh, day-old perspective:

Last night I went to a party at a friend’s house. I’ve never been to her house before, so she texted me directions. When I came to the end of the cul-de-sac per her instructions, I had some trouble locating house numbers. However, I came upon a driveway lined with cars, house with front door open, people visible through an upstairs window—obviously this was the place.

This is sort of a new friend, but I knew she wouldn’t have me stand on formality, so I confidently opened the front door, went inside the house, and marched right up the stairs towards the sound of voices. I was a little surprised when the first room of people I encountered consisted of mostly middle-aged men. I had no idea what kind of crowd to expect at my friend’s party, but I felt like I was remembering correctly that she had said this would be a girls night. I excused myself to slip between two people standing in the doorway in order to see everyone in the room, about twelve people. No sign of my friend, but I did notice that one of the men was wearing a graduation cap. Apparently we’d have multiple celebrations going on under one roof--how nice! I left that room and poked my head into another room, where several women sat talking. Still no sign of my friend.

It was then I noticed that the first room had grown rather quiet yet seemed to be whispering about something. All of a sudden it dawned on me: I was in the wrong house at the wrong party.

Since the joke was already on me, I decided to embrace the awkwardness of this situation, so I stepped back into the middle of the first room and announced, “I am at the wrong party.” They stared at me for a second, unsure how to respond, and then burst into hysterical laughter. I looked at the man in the cap, said, “Congratulations on your graduation! Great party,” gave him the double guns, and walked out of the room.

As I went back down the stairs, one of the men yelled at me, “Would you like to stay and have a sandwich?” Another said, “If anything turns up missing, we’ll know who took it!” They were howling with laughter, and I laughed pretty hard myself during the walk of shame to my friend’s house.

The right party enjoyed hearing my story almost as much as the wrong party enjoyed witnessing it, and now you’re enjoying my story, so I guess I’m willing to sacrifice my pride for your amusement. I’m sure it won’t be the last time.

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