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Thanks to the wonderful invention of camera phones and the popularity of hidden-camera television shows, I sometimes assume that I’m being filmed without my knowledge or consent.  This paranoia typically occurs when I’m in a situation that I can’t quite fathom logically.  Like, this is too weird/funny/fill-in-the-blank not to be recorded.  I’d like to blame this on our film everything, cell phone attached to the hip at all times culture, but I’m sure the highly imaginative writer in me has something to do with this thinking as well.

Case in point, I attended a house party recently.  It was a birthday celebration.  Pretty small, pretty chill.  I went solo; only about 20 or so folks were in attendance.  There was great food, good music and plenty of alcohol.  But I’m not much of a drinker, so I politely declined any alcoholic beverages when they were offered to me.  Besides not caring much for the taste, I have a very low tolerance for alcohol.  A few sips and my stomach is in knots.  It’s not the best feeling in the world, so I figure why even go there?  Save them precious drops for someone who actually wants them.

But I couldn’t have guessed that my lack of drinking would stir up such heated emotions in the other partygoers.  Everyone there was drinking, getting tipsy and having a good time.  Myself included, minus the alcohol.  But strangely, one person after another commented on the cup of water in my hand.  Some straight up found the H20 offensive.  And a few couldn’t believe that I was getting by at this party completely sober.  Others still equated my lack of alcohol consumption as a clear and obvious indication that I wasn’t having fun.  How dare I refuse to have a good time at a party…

That’s when the writer in me kicked in.  Was I being punked?  Suddenly, I felt like I was unknowingly shooting a PSA with a bunch of paid actors who could pass for teenagers in the same way that 20-something actors did in the ‘90s on shows like Saved By The Bell and My So-Called Life.  And clearly this PSA, in which I was the unsuspecting star, was meant to showcase the ills of peer pressure in a “This is your brain on drugs” kind of way.  At any second, the party was going to turn from awkward and uncomfortable to “Why didn’t I get out of there sooner?”  But the more I looked around, the more I realized that there were no cameras, hidden or otherwise.

In that moment, I felt like an ancient relic.  More like the unfortunate subject of a freak show.  I never in my life received so much attention for the contents of my red plastic cup.  These perfect strangers ganged up on me for not having fun in a way that matched their standards. Sure, I can blame their obnoxious behavior on the liquor, but the bigger picture to me, the most important eye-opener is the fact that not only do I have a low tolerance for alcohol, the older I get, the less tolerance I have for BS – alcohol induced or not.

The old me would have internalized the taunting of a tipsy few and allowed that petty foolishness to feed my own insecurities.  I would have stayed at that house party out of obligation to prove a bunch of strangers wrong.  And for what?  Eff that.  I wasn’t having the time of my life but I was certainly enjoying the food, the music, and the company. But the fun sure did stop once people kept accusing me of being a party pooper because I didn’t join them in a drink or two.  I didn’t take their words to heart, but the incessant and unnecessary attention put a serious damper on what was formerly a chill, relaxed mood.  So instead of hanging around and being privy to more bs, I stood up for myself and reminded anyone who asked that it’s perfectly possible to attend a party, not drink at said party and live to tell the tale.  And then I said goodbye to the host and took my sober butt home.

Now, at the end of the day, was the party that serious or that big of a deal?  Not at all.  It was simply an odd experience that I couldn’t resist sharing.  An experience that unexpectedly showed me how much I’ve grown.

Have you had a similar experience?

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