Exit Strategy

In Alcoholics Anonymous, aka AA, an organization of which, I am ashamed/blush to tell you, yet I’m also (paradoxically, obviously) proud to tell you, I am a member, they tell you, when it comes to parties, you should always have an “exit strategy.”

Meaning, basically, in a nutshell: When you start to feel squirrely, your eyes darting around, when you’re bored, starting to wonder if Jean-Paul Sartre might not have had a point when he said “hell is other people,” gezzahell outadere! Vanish! Vamoos! Into da night.

Which is an ironic thing, in a way—I think! But I’m far from sure!—when you think about it. I used to “bolt,” aka vanish without explanation, from parties because I was too drunk. Time passed, then I started vanishing without explanation from parties because I was too sober.

Is that irony? Alanis Morrisette, help me out here; because I’m lost. It may be that it has nothing whatsoever to do with alcohol. The party that I’m thinking of specifically happened a couple of weeks ago. And it’s true: it’s as if I rolled, or rather pranced, in on a unicorn. So everyone was all like: “Oooh, where did you get a unicorn? How much did he/she cost? What do you feed a unicorn? Are the upkeep costs of unicorns pricey?”

I speak metaphorically. I did not literally ride into the party on a unicorn. But recently, after being lifelong city kids, my wife and I relocated to a rural domicile. So everyone was all like: “Oooh, what’s it like living in the country? How do you like your new rural existence?”

But here’s where the problem comes in. They ask the question. But they’re not interested in the answer. So I’m like “blah blah blah” and they’re peeking at their phones. Or whatever. I wonder: “Is it me? Am I boring? Have I become old and boring?” But I don’t think so. I do believe most firmly: it’s not me. It’s other people. And going forward, my plan is to avoid them. I’ll go to their so-called parties. But I’ll always have an “exit strategy.”