A while back, I had some friends ask me if I wanted to go with them to the opera. I have no qualms about occasionally going to events that are a tad more refined, so I didn't immediately dismiss the idea. In hindsight, that one decision was completely worth it.
First off, the two friends who invited me weren't sure that I would be interested at all. They would later confess that they were both iffy on whether or not I had the requisite amount of class to be interested in the opera. In fact, there were some Facebook posts to this effect. Well then, gauntlet thrown and challenge accepted. And as it turned out, I'd actually signed up for an account with the SF Opera when I did Opera in the Park a few years back. I was more than a tad amused to (re)discover this fact, so I triumphantly reported said fact.
Well then, I'd agreed to go see the opera. That's when the fun really started. When I said I'd go, I was met with, only slightly paraphrased, "OMG, really?!" Yup, I had a good long chuckle about that, too. Anyhow, after agreeing to see the show, we traded a few more emails to finalize the date and time. Cue even more banter and heckling. At one point, the gauntlet-throwing friend said that I should consider myself among the cultured elite since I was going. And if not, well, did I wear wife beaters?
I couldn't help but laugh at that last part, for a bunch of reasons. For one, I do usually wear that style of shirt, but underneath my work clothes. Remember, I wear dress shirts to work. I was simultaneously carrying the negative, low-brow stigmas of the undershirt (there's a reason the slang term for them is "wife beater") with the hoity-toity undertones of the dress shirt. Apparently the "Gentleman Rogue" nickname I'd once been given was entirely appropriate. Secondly, since when have I ever been in any kind of elite club? I'm the kid in the back making smart aleck comments half the time; the idea of me being in a super selective club made me laugh even more.
Normally, all of that would be enough to fill a blog post. There had been more than a few laughs along the way, and everything had ended in a happy enough note. This story, however, kept going.
On the actual night of the show, we all met up and enjoyed the show. There was a bit of commentary that made the night even more amusing ("this is like the original Korean drama, what with all the sudden life-altering decisions"), but on the whole, it was a good time. In fact, it was such a good time that we decided to prolong the evening by grabbing a drink afterward. At this point, our group consisted of three women (one of them being the Mild Ex), myself, and another guy. We didn't think much of this, and I know I certainly didn't take the numbers into account. Other people at the bar did, though. In particular, one brave soul noticed that there was no one sitting next to one of the women and that there was a tiny bit of space next to her.
So, the guy made his move. He walked over, extended his hand as if to introduce himself to her, and started to sit down. I caught the look of confusion and dismay on her face as this was happening, and I happened to be sitting close to her (across from the "empty" seat next to her), so I intercepted the guy. I stuck out MY hand and conversed with him. The Mild Ex was also nice enough to play along, so it wasn't that awkward. Still, the rest of my party had no desire to converse with this guy, so they stuck to themselves (I can't exactly fault them for this, it was an odd situation). At some point, the thought flashed through my head: I had somehow turned into the anti-wingman (though according to Wikipedia, this was basically a wingman for a woman).
He was a nice enough guy and all, and we even had similar professions, so we talked shop for a while. Eventually, though, the Mild Ex and I had to leave. And as it turned out, we were the first of our group to leave. So at this point, the guy turned his attention to the people he originally wanted to hit on. I later heard that he did not fare all that well, and he embodied several unflattering stereotypes while conversing with the others. In fact, I believe the word "antagonistic" was thrown about at one point. It was actually bad enough that the women agreed to buy me drinks the next time we hung out for initially sparing them from this situation.
So, all in all, agreeing to go to the opera led to someone questioning how much culture I had, I was semi-accused of being crass, and it all ended with people agreeing to buy me drinks. All of this happened to a backdrop of constant laughter. I should go to the opera more often.
First off, the two friends who invited me weren't sure that I would be interested at all. They would later confess that they were both iffy on whether or not I had the requisite amount of class to be interested in the opera. In fact, there were some Facebook posts to this effect. Well then, gauntlet thrown and challenge accepted. And as it turned out, I'd actually signed up for an account with the SF Opera when I did Opera in the Park a few years back. I was more than a tad amused to (re)discover this fact, so I triumphantly reported said fact.
Well then, I'd agreed to go see the opera. That's when the fun really started. When I said I'd go, I was met with, only slightly paraphrased, "OMG, really?!" Yup, I had a good long chuckle about that, too. Anyhow, after agreeing to see the show, we traded a few more emails to finalize the date and time. Cue even more banter and heckling. At one point, the gauntlet-throwing friend said that I should consider myself among the cultured elite since I was going. And if not, well, did I wear wife beaters?
I couldn't help but laugh at that last part, for a bunch of reasons. For one, I do usually wear that style of shirt, but underneath my work clothes. Remember, I wear dress shirts to work. I was simultaneously carrying the negative, low-brow stigmas of the undershirt (there's a reason the slang term for them is "wife beater") with the hoity-toity undertones of the dress shirt. Apparently the "Gentleman Rogue" nickname I'd once been given was entirely appropriate. Secondly, since when have I ever been in any kind of elite club? I'm the kid in the back making smart aleck comments half the time; the idea of me being in a super selective club made me laugh even more.
Normally, all of that would be enough to fill a blog post. There had been more than a few laughs along the way, and everything had ended in a happy enough note. This story, however, kept going.
On the actual night of the show, we all met up and enjoyed the show. There was a bit of commentary that made the night even more amusing ("this is like the original Korean drama, what with all the sudden life-altering decisions"), but on the whole, it was a good time. In fact, it was such a good time that we decided to prolong the evening by grabbing a drink afterward. At this point, our group consisted of three women (one of them being the Mild Ex), myself, and another guy. We didn't think much of this, and I know I certainly didn't take the numbers into account. Other people at the bar did, though. In particular, one brave soul noticed that there was no one sitting next to one of the women and that there was a tiny bit of space next to her.
So, the guy made his move. He walked over, extended his hand as if to introduce himself to her, and started to sit down. I caught the look of confusion and dismay on her face as this was happening, and I happened to be sitting close to her (across from the "empty" seat next to her), so I intercepted the guy. I stuck out MY hand and conversed with him. The Mild Ex was also nice enough to play along, so it wasn't that awkward. Still, the rest of my party had no desire to converse with this guy, so they stuck to themselves (I can't exactly fault them for this, it was an odd situation). At some point, the thought flashed through my head: I had somehow turned into the anti-wingman (though according to Wikipedia, this was basically a wingman for a woman).
He was a nice enough guy and all, and we even had similar professions, so we talked shop for a while. Eventually, though, the Mild Ex and I had to leave. And as it turned out, we were the first of our group to leave. So at this point, the guy turned his attention to the people he originally wanted to hit on. I later heard that he did not fare all that well, and he embodied several unflattering stereotypes while conversing with the others. In fact, I believe the word "antagonistic" was thrown about at one point. It was actually bad enough that the women agreed to buy me drinks the next time we hung out for initially sparing them from this situation.
So, all in all, agreeing to go to the opera led to someone questioning how much culture I had, I was semi-accused of being crass, and it all ended with people agreeing to buy me drinks. All of this happened to a backdrop of constant laughter. I should go to the opera more often.
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