1.
I join a circle of friends in the hotel lobby. We haven’t seen each other in months, but it’s the first day of the conference and I am exhausted from travel. All I can do is mutter repeatedly, “it’s so good to see you; it’s really good to see you.” My friends smile and say the same. They ask me how my trip was.
My story is interrupted by a Big Shot, who joins the circle upon spotting someone he knows standing among us, listening to my story. He timidly nods at us. Everybody is quiet now, waiting for him to say something. Someone introduces us to him — where we are from, what we do. But it is clear that he is not here to talk to us. He talks to his friend who stands across from him in the circle. He talks about people I don’t know. He asks about his projects. The rest of us stand there, smiling, listening, pretending to be interested.
“I’m going to drop my stuff upstairs now.” I say to my friend. The circle suddenly starts to move. Big Shot has invited his friend for lunch. It is unclear whether my friend is invited. It is clear to me that I am not. “Go ahead. I’ll catch you later.” I say to my friend.
2.
“Come join us!” A friend waves me down in the hallway. She is seated with a group of her colleagues (friends?). I join her. “This is Kino. She works in the philosophy of statistics.” She says. Then she introduces the rest of the party.
One of them nods mildly at me; another is eager to continue his interrupted conversation. I sit down and sip my coffee. My friend sits down and sips hers.
They are talking about some session they were just at. Then they talk about a common friend. Then they talk about research. My friend tries to say something. She is cut off. She leans back and resumes her position. Sipping coffee. Silent. Smiling.
“I actually enjoy teaching large classes. It feels more efficient.” I chime in, too confident to be interrupted. Guy turns his head towards me with a genuine surprise on his face, like he has not considered the possibility that I can talk. He says something pleasant and lighthearted. He turns away to the other guy. They resume their conversation.
“I’m going to go.” I say, as other friends of mine slowly walk out of conference rooms, “I’ll catch you later.”
As I walk away, I think to myself: you have no idea what you just missed. You have no idea how valuable of a professional connection I could have been for you.
It’s a satisfying and deeply saddening thought.
3.
“Until you and J complain to me about it, I have always thought this was normal. It’s just how it is.” A friend says, “this is how conferences are supposed to be — I’d be talking to someone, and then someone else would come in. Next thing I know I’d be standing there. Nobody would ask who I was or what I do. And I’d be standing there in silence, for hours on end. I’ve always thought this was normal until I heard you and J complaining about it. Then I realized it’s not how it’s supposed to be, that it doesn’t happen to everybody else. Then I’m just angry.”
But of course, this has always been the case. This is the rule, not the exception. All of us still remember the people who didn’t do it to us that one time, many years ago, because there are so few of them. I remember sitting next to Bill in a restaurant as he strenuously, and ultimately unsuccessfully, tried to get other people to talk to me. I remember the shock I felt when Adrian told his friend that he would catch up later, just so he could sit across from me in the hotel lobby and ask what I was up to. There are two more cases. That’s it.
“There’s nothing you can do. You did what you could.” I try to console my friend.
But it is clear that this isn’t what she is mad about.
4.
I sit on one end of a long table at the bar. A friend sits across from me. Next to her is Some Guy, then another friend. Some Guy introduces himself and asks what we do. He addresses this question to the Other Friend, who answers. Some Guy is intrigued. He asks questions. They start a conversation.
Friend sitting across from me chats with me. We have a lovely time. She goes to bed early.
Some Guy scooches over to make room for people joining on the other end of the table. He now sits across from me. He looks at me, assessing the possibility that he can get away without acknowledging me. He concludes that his chances are high and resumes his conversation with Other Friend, who now looks at me uneasily, unsure of what to do.
A wave of chatter erupts. Big Shot is walking this way. He sits down at the other end of the table next to his friend. Every head turns, as if tidally locked by his gravitational pull. Some Guy adjusts his chair to be facing in that direction.
But Big Shot is not here to talk with us. He is here to talk with his friend. I catch the wandering eyes of the person sitting next to him. I can see that she has not heard a word. I can see Some Guy regretting sitting too far on this end. But it is too late now.
I have been in this situation so many times before. I can almost hear the restaurant chatter, see the waitress’s curious eyes, feel the heat that’s been turned too high, smell the mixture of alcohol and middle eastern food… and I would sit there, like I have sat there so many times before, knowing that my night is over, my presence gone, and yet unable to move, like a piece of luggage that’s been shipped to the wrong city, sitting there, unacclaimed.
But I have wasted dozens, if not hundreds, of hours doing this. I have passed my rite of passage.
“I’m going to go now.” I say as I get up. I catch J’s eyes as she gives me a knowing look. I smile.
Later that night I will vent all my heart out. And she will tell me the same story, over and over. She will give me a list of people who have done this to her just that day. The list will be too long for me to remember. I will tell her how I’m proud of myself for getting up and leaving. She will tell me she is proud of me. It will all be good in the end.
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Every sentence resonates with my experience. Thank you so much for uttering this story (on behalf of me).