Having successfully managed to get through another epic week of classes without suffering a brain hemorrhage or a tearful breakdown, I decided that it might be worthwhile to join my podmates (we have all our classes together) in the hallowed tradition of Thirsty Thursday. For those of you not in the know, this is a weekly informal get-together of pod members at one of the many fine and not-so-fine pubs in the Sellwood-Moreland-Brooklyn area. Armed with the top-secret location of this week's festivities, I grabbed a shuttle home with the intent of fortifying myself with some wholesome home cooking.
When I returned from classes at 8pm, I found that Gaby had not yet eaten dinner either, because she had really wanted to eat together. How very sweet. Unfortunately, she had also not had any snacks all afternoon, so she was feeling too hungry to actually wait for something to cook. Thirsty Thursday sounded like a promising source of food to her, and so began our trek out to the bar within a scant few minutes of my arrival home from classes: this gave me just enough time to pull off my tie, slap some cold water on my face, and generally switch out of knowledge-dumpster mode and into charm-offensive mode.
It was 8:45 when we got to the Limelight, and to my very great surprise there were many pod members there who were already, inexplicably, three sheets to the wind. Some quick calculations suggested that these folks must have come over directly after class and been dedicating themselves to wiping the whiteboard of their memories clean ever since. Amazingly, their pace did not seem to slow all night. Gaby and I grabbed a table and ordered some food, and when we looked up from our empty dinner plates, we were surprised to see a prodigious row of empty glasses stacked along the bar, while two woozy-looking students returned to their fellows with crooked smiles and an armful of shot glasses. Eventually, the party moved to a nearby residence. I was floored by the seemingly unending reserves at the command of these normally retiring and hard-working students. Were savage party animals hiding beneath the surface of their fastidious exteriors the whole time? I shuddered slightly at the thought.
While such thoughts were running through my mind, a couple of students, one male and one female, cornered me on the back porch and really started laying it on thick. The gentleman used a very direct flattery-based approach, while the lady employed a subtler hand, combining techniques of ego-stroking with actual stroking (the old "you're so funny" hand on the arm routine) and liberally sprinkling in some winsome smiles. I didn't know what they were playing at, but it occurred to me briefly that this was going to end with an invitation to join them back at their place for a more private sort of get-together. (You may laugh, but I have received invitations to these sorts of events before, and any suggestion that another might be forthcoming sends me into DEFCON-4.)
Thank heavens I was way off-base. Within a few more minutes, it became clear that they were trying to recruit me for their study group. I almost laughed with relief, as some measure of reason and decorum was restored to the world. These were no party animals, and they were no seedy swingers. They were simply preparing for the professional eventuality of three-martini working lunches, sweet-talking and negotiating their way to advantage. You have to admire the skill and the instinct. Accordingly, I did my best lawyering too: I told them I would take the offer under advisement, and that we would talk further when we had a chance to compare schedules and work out the logistics (see kids, these are techniques called "back-pedaling" and "hedging"). I'll probably join the group, because I need to make friends; still, I'm a little weirded out by the bald recruitment campaign, and my eye still twitches every once in a while by the fleeting suspicion that these two wingnuts will show up to the first study group session wearing bathrobes and carrying a bottle of chardonnay and a spank paddle.
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