Saturday, November 12, 2022

A Little Fun

 

 

That was a first. I crashed a high school reunion I had no business attending. It was the 1982 Tolman High school 40th. I, instead, was a St Ray's 1982 graduate. The reason I went was because I figured I'd run into kids (now old adults) I knew in Goff Jr High back....in 1979. When we all left jr high, most of the ones I knew went to Tolman. You get older, you look back a lot and these people I knew then did figure in my life to some importance. I wanted to see how they turned out.

A few did recognize me and a few others did once they learned my name. After looking at them sort of intently, I could recognize their eyes. They were amazed by my white shock of hair I sport now. Their last memory of me was of auburn/reddish haired Irish kid.

Dave asks: “So, what are you up too?”

I then tell him I have to compress in 4 minutes 40 years of my life. I tell him of my career path, domestic life and how I just ditched a job and the whole scene a year after covid ravaged the nursing/rehab homes. I stayed “retired' for about a year. His eyes widened when I told him that and I caught it. If you work with the deaf, you learn to read people quick.

“You're retired? He asks, with a bit of surprise.

“No..well...sort of..maybe...I don't know yet.” I tell him. “I am working again and the future I kind of leave open ended as to what's next. To tell the truth, I don't know what the future holds. No one does. Work till I drop, quit, retire and feed the ducks at the pond...take up water color painting? Who knows?”

He then tells me of his three daughters that he's pushing through college. I then think, “No wonder he was surprised at me, he's working to pay off what the state won't.”

A situation occurred where I had the same reaction at my 35th reunion for St Ray's. I was introduced to a guy I knew back then and then tried like hell to hide my light horror. The guy, I'll call Phill, looked like he was 69 years old. He was bald, covered in old age spots and sort of hunched. I tried, really tried not to look shocked but you can't hide it all. There are days where I feel that old but I don't look like this guy. We spoke for a few and I just scanned him as we talked. “God...how some people age badly” I thought.

I then looked around at the women. There were a couple of Sloppo-patomuses there but most were average. Though there were a few cheerleader types who must've spent 45 minutes trying to wriggle themselves into a pair of skinny jeans. The desperately thin at 59 years of age.

Since I crashed this party, I had no name tag. When I arrived I just sort of walked past the registration table, got a beer and started schmoozing. I wondered how long I could get away with it. Not too long apparently.

Thirty minutes in a guy comes up to me and asks, “Who are you? You have no name tag? Alot of people seem to think they know you but you have no tag.”

“Nope. I am a 1982 graduate of Saint Rays, but I figured I'd see people I know here.”

“Did you pay?” he asks.

“Nope.” I tell him.

“Well,” he goes on, “don't you think it's unfair that these people paid and you didn't?”

I then tell him why would I? I never attended Tolman high, and I was there for a short time anyway and had NO intention of eating their food. I'm not that much of a leech. I too, have some pride.

“But..the rules...you didn't pay!” he tells me.

I lift my glass of Blue Moon beer to him, sort of toasting him and say, “Ain't it funny how life turns out? How these things occur? You enjoy the party, I know I will.” And I walk off.

I knew that he'd rejoin his group and in about 28 seconds my crime would be broadcast to all there. No problem. I headed downstairs to the bar and ordered a greaseburger. There, I am no longer trespassing on the temporary property of Tolman's 40th that's going on upstairs and I managed to continue my chats with some who were downstairs as well.

Crashing events you were never invited to can be fun. When much younger, a few of us would stumble across a wedding reception at some restaurant or event place and we'd slide ourselves in. The lure of falling down drunk bridesmaids was usually the motive. Or, the reception was really hopping and we'd invite ourselves anyway for a good time.

The best crash was at a Bruce Sundland, Governor of RI event. My brother at the time was a writer and he had written a scathing, satirical piece about Sundlund's dating habits. It was titled, “Bruce Sundlund's Dating Guide” and in it, my brother makes him come off as the sleaziest, woman using, male slutting, whore mongering prick you ever met. My brother managed to get away with it because at the bottom of the piece was written: “This is a spoof, a work of comedic fiction. In no way should anyone take this as a serious piece of journalism. All statements in this article are wholly made up” But it was written in teensy-weensy script so more than a few people never read that part of it and thought the piece was real and just an ugly political hatchet job on the governor. You have to be extra-specially STUPID not to get satire, but there are more than a few in RI who are dullards.

How did my brother know people took it as a real piece of journalism? The paper he worked for received dozens of pieces of hate mail. The editors thought it a goof and it sold more copies. Since the piece was stated to be a “work of fiction,” the paper was barely not liable for libel slandering.

Soo, my brother wanting to enjoy a good time, wants to shake the Governor's hand. The event was at the Biltmore and we go down, dressed sort of business casual and we drink, rob the buffet line and my brother is waiting for the moment to place himself in front of Sundland.

He gets his chance.

“Hello Sir, I'm Ken M____, I was the one who wrote that piece in the Providence Monthly.

It took the gov about 12 seconds to figure it out and then just icily stared at my brother.

My brother and I retreated to a corner of the room, trying not to laugh. I managed to finish off a beer when two very serious looking guys come up to us.

“You two have to leave...now!” they say.

“Why? Asks my brother.

“There's no why, youse two have to go!”

So we leave. Why spend the weekend at the Intake Center at the ACI?

Anyways, I managed to see a few I knew from so long ago at that reunion I might not have otherwise. Where and when would I be able to find them all stuffed into a single room again?

 

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