Pressure to Perform
“Red, please. Oh wait. What kind of red is it?” asked Hugh, an assistant professor at NYU.
The college kid hired to help with the party paused, suspended by a mix of consternation and belligerence. He didn’t know what kind of red it was. He just knew it wasn’t white. Qualifications for work-study financial aid positions didn’t include being a wine aficionado—duh. It, in fact, required quite just the opposite. He drank his wine from a box.
Hugh noticed the delay and read it as incompetence. Marjorie, the chair of the English department, always had these untrained kids assisting her all-department events.
“Nevermind, the red is fine. Two, please.”
Hugh took the wine and walked back to the front door where his wife, Emily, still stood. She was smoothing out windblown strands of hair and her grey sweater set in the mirror by the door. He handed her a glass. She took a gulp of it with a shaky hand. He faced out toward the guests surveying how to best insert themselves into the party.
“Oh, there’s Larry, and he’s with his wife. What’s her name? Do you remember? You did enjoy talking with her that one time, right?”
“I think her name was Shirley. Or Cheryl. Or Shelly? I don’t know. I don’t want to be here. I’m still feeling a bit shaken up.”
“Oh you’re alright. Nothing actually happened.” And then he continued. “But something could happen if we don’t stick around here for a bit making nice with everyone. If we left now, my colleagues will think I’m anti-social, or worse, they won’t think of me at all. And then what happens? I don’t get tenure.”
“It’s all about you,” Emily said.
“Well, we’re here for me. So yes, this is about me.”
“We’re here. Do you recognize that pronoun as plural? That means you realize there are two of us here.”
“Fine. But you’re acting as though you think I want to be here. You think I wouldn’t prefer to be lounging around at home than clinking glasses with Marjorie and her cronies?”
“Ok, ok. You say that, but I think you like these things. You shine when you’re schmoozing. You really do. Lubricated with a glass or two of wine, your small talk trumps them all.”
“Well, you think you know me so well, don’t you?”
November 16th, 2009 at 8:57 pm
As always, a delight to read! So well written!!!! I felt like I was on the subway, too!