Of late, the term ‘after party’ has danced its way into our collective lexicon. Though it may have been bereft of a formal eponym, at some point a few overzealous party goers decided to recognize it. This is a fictional recreation of what might have occurred. Resemblance to any party animal, dead or alive is purely coincidental.
Somewhere in a party long long ago, the liquor would have been flowing freely and everyone thought the night would be forever young. Everything appeared to be going according to plan until for some reason, everything and everyone seemed to epitomize boredom. The booze only got you so high, there is only so much you could chat up that pretty damsel, and when the heck did you start drinking vodka and cranberry juice? From there on, the night started getting old very fast. Until some weary hung over partygoer said ‘where do we go after the party’? And another drunken soul misconstrued it as ‘after party’.
To someone unfamiliar with the party territory (like the writer of this piece), the distinction seems outwardly amusing. For what occurs in a party and an after party isn’t all that dissimilar. There is booze. Someone is trying to chat up someone else. Somebody is trying to pass of a classmate’s achievements as one’s own. To cut a long story short, it resembles just another party. But this outwardly distinction has caused a few people to re-look at party going etiquette.
Previously, while most people were content to empty the bar and pass out, the after party has caused people to think twice (the number varies according to the alcohol in the system)) on the ramifications of missing the after party. Many souls who place their self esteem in the hands of the number of parties they are invited to, find that their self-esteem eroded when not invited for the after party. Much to their dismay, they discover that the entire party was a smoke screen, a diversionary tactic, a weeding out process, and alas, they were left out at the end when the list was being populated for the after party. Even Shakespeare would find it hard to write a sonnet for this sad state of affairs.
So the next time you think too highly of yourself when invited for a party, think twice. Walk in fashionably late as usual. Play the busy card and rave about the multi-million dollar deal that you struck in your imagination. Pretend to like scotch when all your tongue craves is old monk and coke. But as you stumble though the night, keep your ears open. For somewhere the real party is being planned. Where everything is apparently different, but yet the same. It’s the after party. Don’t hold back dear friend. And don’t hesitate to ask that really pretty damsel or the badass bartender just as it appears that everything is done and dusted - where’s the after party tonight?