A man whose name I don't remember backhands my chest and says my name as he walks by. Later he is angry that I didn't say hello back to him.
"Oh, that was a hello?" I say. "I'm sorry, I thought it was just assault."
Against all odds he believe that this apology is deserved and sincere. He accepts it and asks me what I'm up to in life.
I tell him I'm an archaeologist. Actually, I tell him "Jonathan said I should tell everyone I'm an archaeologist." Jonathan has been my best friend for 15 years and is the only reason I'm here, so I let him pick what job I claim to have. I've punctuated each pronouncement by grabbing a nearby object and stating that it "belongs in a museum" in the vein of Indiana Jones, though the few people who have asked for more details got a story more from the biography of Dr. Alan Grant. A few people press until they get the real story, but most don't care, and I don't blame them.
Maybe I'm coming off as a jerk, but -- much like the last time I saw these folks -- I'm in a place I don't really want to be surrounded by people I'm mostly not emotionally invested in, so I'm having what fun I can. Besides, I paid $20 to be here.
It's not that high school was a negative experience for me. It just wasn't an overly positive one either. I'd sum it up by rocking my hand back and worth while shrugging and making a noise like "enhhh".
At the end of the night word comes around that far more than the 40 people who showed up RSVP'd and we still owe the caterer $700, though the room was only set for about 20 more and there's only about 125 people in the class. The math doesn't work out. I don't stick around.