Homeward Bound

While Sam prepared to depart for the airport with Danielle, it soon became clear that those still at the party—including the bride, her mother and her fiancé—had all but forgotten that I, too, needed a ride. Upon reminding them, an emotional storm began brewing. Quiet conversations were held, which I was clearly not invited to be part of. Danielle, who moments ago had been laughing hysterically, was quiet, gloomy and depressed. Finally, it was announced that Sam would be riding with Danielle’s fiancé and I would go with Danielle—past my house to her house. I would also be driving.

It seemed Danielle, who had just spent the entire day being the center of attention, was suffering from a random but serious anxiety attack. She claimed she was physically incapable of driving and needed me to drive her straight home. From there, her fiancé was going to pick me up and take me to my place in time to have dinner with my family. The situation was odd, but I went along with it. After all, Danielle and Jon lived just minutes from the airport. He’d be able to drop Sam off and pick me up shortly thereafter.

We all said our goodbyes and took off. By the time we arrived at her place, Danielle seemed to be back to her old self—cheery and chatty. We carried food and gifts up to her apartment, chatted and putzed around on the computer a little, checking our e-mail. Forty minutes later, when Jon still hadn’t arrived, we knew something was wrong. Danielle placed a call to him, only to find out he had gone straight from the airport to his gym and wasn’t planning on being home for another two hours. Danielle reminded him that I, too, needed a ride, but Jon stuck to his guns. He wouldn’t be home until 7 that night, which means I wouldn’t get home until after 8 p.m.

Suddenly, I felt like a trapped animal. On a Sunday evening, restaurants that were open weren’t going to stay open much later than 9. I needed to get home. My family—including my seven-year-old niece—was waiting. I looked at Danielle who looked back at me. Certainly, after the fab day I had planed, she could at least drive me to a metro station; it was only 10 minutes away, and even then, I’d still be looking at an hour-long ride. But, like her fiancé, Danielle refused to budge, claiming she was still suffering from anxiety and simply could not drive. Her advice? I should cab it home.

My spirits didn’t just drop—they crashed. I was living a nightmare. An hour’s cab ride was easily going to cost $80—money that I didn’t have. How much worse could it get? I had devoted so much time, effort, and money planning and preparing for this party, dedicating myself fully to my friend and her happiness. Yet, when I needed a ride home, it was refused to me. I was utterly and completely crushed.

I had no alternative but to sit it out and wait. I called my partner to let him know what was going on. An hour and a half after making that phone call, at 8:15, I walked through the door to my apartment emotionally drained and defeated.

Frustrations Abound

I politely introduced and tried to establish myself as the matriarch in the room—aside from the bride, of course. There were no introductions back and, after a bit of an awkward pause, I encouraged everyone to enjoy themselves and the food. It seems the only ones listening, though, were Elizabeth and Jennifer. They immediately rushed to the buffet-style table, filled their plates and stuffed their faces. Ahead of guests and even the bride, they rushed outside to the home’s covered patio, secured for themselves the best seats in the room, and began chit-chatting away. The rests of the guests hesitantly followed while Sam and I stared at each other. Did that seriously just happen?

Games came next. Of course, bridesmaids Elizabeth and Jennifer won all of the prizes. Realizing those were the chances, though, I moved on to the last and most fun game. This one, however, took a bit of explaining. Each guest would be given a card with the name of a famous person written on it—only, they couldn’t look at the card. They had to use tape to attach the card to their foreheads and—cue the headache. I never had a chance to finish the explanation. Interrupted by a sound worse than nails on a chalkboard, I sat stunned as Jennifer let it be known that she was not, under any circumstance, going to look like a moron with a card taped to her forehead. She strongly encouraged everyone else at the party to forego the game. That’s right—the same person who was ecstatic to win ‘count the M&Ms in the jar’ was afraid of looking foolish.

Luckily, the bride came to my aid and we went ahead with the game. Those who participated spent the next hour in a fit of giggles—even the bride’s fiancé and his best man joined in. It was definitely the highlight of the shower and it seemed all of my hard work had been vindicated. Finally, something was going the way it was supposed to!

I relished the moment, but it didn’t last long. With no warning, queens Elizabeth and Jennifer up and left. Their departure signaled the premature end of the shower and soon, other guests followed suit. Once again, Sam and I were left to do the work. We had dirty plates, glasses, used wrapping paper, furniture, picnic tables, and decorations to clean up. All of the food had to be packed away and divided up between the bride and her mother, the drink bins needed to be emptied of ice and water, and the bride needed help carrying gifts to her car. Adding to the stress, we had 45 minutes to complete the work because Sam still had to catch a flight home.

Working diligently, we met our deadline. Despite the frustrations, I considered  the party a success. Guests had fun and the bride was happy. My job was complete. I was ready to go home, where I had planned to meet my partner and his family for dinner before they, too, returned home from their visit.

Little did I know that the frustrations had only just begun.