My church operates a thrift store called, unimaginatively, Hope Thrift. It’s a pretty big deal that generates a lot of money every year, the majority of which gets channeled back into the community. It’s a wonderful ministry which does an awful lot of good, but like any successful ministry requires a ton of volunteers. In the case of the store, over 150 volunteers are needed every year to make it all work. Last night, Pam and I attended a Christmas party given for those volunteers at a large and lovely home in Barrington. Today, we have the 1:00 to 5:30 shift at the store.
So, I have a love/hate relationship with Christmas parties, all large social gatherings, really. It’s not that I don’t enjoy them. I had a nice time last night. It’s just that my particular set of neurosis are ill-suited to affairs that sandwich 100 human beings into the confined spaces of even the most expansive west end estate. Last night there had to be at least 100 people...and five rooms in play, six if you count the large foyer out front. It should be pointed out that of this house full of people, I actually knew maybe a dozen of them. My strategy...and yes, one must have a strategy at these things...was very simple—stay on the move. I quickly acquainted myself with each of the five available rooms, making note of the ideal escape routes for each. I planned on constantly flowing from one room to the next, trying not to get pinned down in any one place too long. The secret is short, friendly conversations...Hey, how are ya? Nice to meet ya. How ‘bout that crab dip, huh? So, what do you do at the store? Excuse me, I think my wife wants me for something.
That last part isn’t true. I know exactly where my wife is, and she doesn’t want me for anything. She has parked herself somewhere with a couple of people she knows and they are talking about God knows what. If she had her way, the three of them could very well stay in that one spot for an hour or more. She is a marvel of patience and fortitude. As I pass through her room I glance over at her. She doesn’t see me, she’s smiling and laughing at something, looking like a movie star. Meanwhile, I have shaken the hands of a couple of dozen strangers, a bunch of nice people. This morning I can’t recall a single name, despite the fact that everyone was wearing a name tag...Bob, Barb, Brooke, Beth, Bill...it’s all a blur, but I will remember every face.
I did have some things going for me though. Whenever I mentioned to anyone that the store manager, Renee, was in my small group, immediately I became special! Renee is awesome, they would reply...the store would fall apart without her. Some people would ask me if I worked at the store, they didn’t remember seeing me there. That’s probably because I have only been there four times. Then I would explain that I was Pam Dunnevant’s husband. Wait,...they would light up...Isn’t she the pretty blond that works the cash register? Without fail, she was always referred to in those terms! As soon as it was discovered that I was with...her...then, bam!!! I was in! Behold the power of my wife’s kind heart and blond hair.
After two hours and roughly thirty laps it was time to go. I found her talking with a couple of ladies in the kitchen. We made eye contact and I mouthed the words, time to go. She nodded, and fifteen minutes later we were on the way home. If the two of us had been wearing Fitbits, my wife’s would be suggesting that she get moving at some point, since she had been largely sedentary for the past two hours. Mine would be congratulating me for completing my 5k.
But, we work together, Pam and me. It’s a great mystery.
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