The Curmudgeon

A curmudgeon is a crusty, ill-tempered and often elderly person who is consistently cranky, stubborn, and disagreeable. Appearing in English in the late 16th century the word’s exact origin is unknown, though it was previously thought to stem from the French “coeur” and “mechant” (meaning “evil heart’).

Several weeks ago I was slogging away in my office. My work that week was bureaucratic and unrewarding. Creating estimates for possible clients interested in my services. Collecting old receipts from the plastic CVS bag resting at my feet to add to a long overdue invoice. Going through hard drive after hard drive searching for an image file that a magazine wanted to reuse in another story for a paltry sum. I was decidedly grumpy.

At around 4 p.m. my husband called. “Don’t forget we have that thing tonight,” he said.

“What thing?!?” I bellowed into the phone at an unnecessarily high volume. My plan had been to finish up my uninspiring work by 5:30, head to a yoga class from 6 to 7, eat dinner with the hubs and son from 7 to 8 and be in bed, with a good book by 8:30 at the latest. And now, to my dismay, we had this “thing” to attend. Which meant I would have to skip yoga, go home, take a shower, change my clothes, put on heels and make myself presentable and fit for human interaction. None of which I wanted to do.

“Jesus Christ,” I grumbled into the phone and I heard my husband let out a long and frustrated sigh.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” he said, holding his temper, which I appreciated, although I could sense it bubbling like a volcano underneath his measured tone. “You’re sort of impossible,” he told me. “You’re pissed off when we don’t get invited to events and then when we do get invited you bitch and moan and say you don’t want to go!”

I was furious. Livid. Who wouldn’t be? How dare he!

And then I burst out laughing. He was right. That is exactly who I am. In fact there is a cartoon from the New Yorker that was published at least twenty years ago and that hangs over my desk to this day. In it a man and woman are obviously arriving at a party, bottle of wine in hand. As the man rings the doorbell the woman says to him  “I’m ready to leave whenever you are.” It made me laugh when I first saw it and it still does. And yet the truth of it strikes a little too close to home. I am that reluctant woman.

My husband has often called me a curmudgeon, a label that I fight to his face but underneath I carry with some small pride. He’s has also accused me of being “a very extroverted misanthrope.” Maybe. But as I like to remind him, I was much worse when I was actively alcoholic.

When I was drinking you could take me anywhere, introduce me to anyone and I would happily be the life of the party. But once home, or in fact on the way home, I would bitch and moan and gossip and insist that I hadn’t had any fun at all and that persons A, B and C had offended me over God-knows-what.

It was an exhausting way to live. Now that I no longer drink I am considerably less pessimistic and unwilling. But that deep-seated negative attitude can still creep in at times.

The “thing” my husband and I were supposed to attend that evening was a fundraiser in our town for something or other. Restoring a neighborhood park? College funds for the children of soldiers who had died fighting for our country? Pediatric illnesses? Whatever the cause it was certainly a worthy one, and yet I still did not want to go.

But I did, begrudgingly. Even as we were walking into the ballroom where the benefit was being held I was grumbling. “I hate these things. I’m not going to know anyone. Everyone will be drinking but me.”

None of that was true. Immediately I spotted someone across the crowded room who I was happy to see. Then I ran into a couple I like and hadn’t seen in ages. Several people seemed to be holding glasses of sparkling water. We chatted away and caught up on each other’s lives until we were herded, like so many compliant sheep, into the main event.

There were well over five hundred people there; the room was packed. As I looked over the program that had been placed on my chair I imagined that we would be subjected to hours of boring speeches. Then we were inevitably going to be shown a heart-warming (but no doubt depressing) video on the giant monitors hanging on either side of the podium at the front of the room. At the very end of the night, after we had choked down a limp salad drowning in vinegar and a cold undercooked piece of rubbery chicken we would get the shakedown for a significant sum of cold hard cash.

I wondered if my husband would notice if I just took off. He was sitting at the other end of table from me and I hastily devised a plan to sneak out and Uber home.

At that point I glanced down at my salad and was surprised to see a crisp mesclun surrounded by tiny heirloom tomatoes and beautifully prepared slices of cucumber and Manchego cheese. I took a tentative bite. It was dressed in a superb vinaigrette, light and refreshing with just the slightest hint of dill. Despite my curmudgeonly mood, I was impressed.

I didn’t know the men sitting on either side of me. In fact other than my husband I didn’t know anyone at the table. So as well as being subjected to the end-of-event shakedown, I would have to make small talk.

But before I turned to either of my dining companions I gave myself a stern talking to. “You’re here now,” I told myself, “and since you are here you should try to relax. Everyone at this table is like you. They may not know anyone. They don’t necessarily want to be here. They came because they are supporting this charity or a person involved with this charity. They suited up and they showed up and you should do the same.” I gave myself a soft and perspective-changing (I hoped) slap across the face.

I took two long deep breaths and turned to the man on my left. After introducing myself I asked him about his involvement with the cause. Turns out he was on the board of the not-for-profit organization we were all there to support. Lo and behold, he was talkative and interesting and we chatted away for about five minutes before the first speaker was introduced. I expected him to bore us to tears. But he wasn’t boring. He was funny and bright and engaging. Best of all he was quick and concise. He didn’t drone on and on and on. He got right to the point, said what he needed to say, made us laugh, and then went back to his seat.

After that the entrée arrived. It was hot and although I didn’t want to concede the fact to anyone, it was delicious. I turned to the man on my right and complimented the meal. He was a good conversationalist. He asked a lot of questions, was quite easy to talk to and we found a lot of common ground.

Several others got up to speak and they were entertaining. A video was shown and although heart-wrenching at times it was also full of hope. No shakedown came. Toward the end of the night we were told that there was a QR code we could scan with our phones at the exits and if we felt compelled to do so we could donate. Or not. The organizers were simply happy that we had come to learn a bit about their cause.

As we left the table after a wonderfully decadent dessert I turned to the new acquaintance on my right and said “that was a nice benefit. I usually hate these things.”

“Really?” he replied. “I think most are like this. I enjoy them. You usually get to see old friends, meet new people, learn something. But the best part is the free drinks and dinner!” At this we both laughed and then parted ways.

When I met up with my husband he asked me how I was and if I had had an “okay” time. “It was great,” I told him. “I enjoyed myself.”

“What’s wrong with you?” he said as he put his hand on my forehead, checking my temperature with a look of mock concern on his face. “Are you ill?” And then he wandered away to get his coat.

As I stood there alone by the exit watching the hordes leave I was struck by how many nice opportunities I had deprived myself of. By talking myself into thinking that these events were going to “suck,” many of them had. But it had nothing at all to do with the event or the people. It had to do with me and my curmudgeonly outlook. My contempt prior to investigation.

Thanks to this recent “thing” my husband and I attended, I have been trying to work on my outlook. My perspective. Maybe I don’t have to be the extroverted misanthrope. Maybe I can simply be an extrovert. Happy to be invited. Happy to suit up and show up. Happy to become a little less curmudgeonly. One event, one party, one day…at a time.