Wedding Crasher
I am attending a wedding tonight, which reminded me of a time I accidentally crashed a wedding.
A few years ago, I crashed a wedding. I was in the Virginia Beach/Norfolk area, heading to a benefit concert at the Chrysler Museum. Semi-legend and Disco Diva Pamela Stanley (“I’m coming out of hiding, ”“If looks could kill, you’d be lying on the floor,” among a few others) was performing. I had met Ms. Stanley a few times (in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware), and I thought it would be fun to go to her show since I happened to be in the Tidewater area at the time.
At seven, there was to be a cocktail reception before the concert at eight. I wore a decent pair of jeans and a nice shirt for the occasion.
I parked at the Museum, and even though I saw a group of people going in the back door…I went into the front of the building. The front door was locked, but people were milling about on the patio, smoking. I went up to them and noticed the men in suits and the women in elegant cocktail dresses. I pulled on the patio door, and it was locked. Two people inside came out to smoke, and they held the door open for me and a friend to enter.
I saw servers running around with hors d’oeuvres. I assumed it was the cocktail reception. I thought, “Gee, we are getting a lot of bang for a twenty-five-dollar ticket.”
Some guys were wearing black bow ties. I started to feel embarrassed by my choice of clothing. We were the only ones in jeans. I turned to my friend, “I guess since it’s a benefit, people get dressed up?” I was thinking it was awfully formal for a fifty-something B-List Disco performer.
I looked at the tickets and thought, “Maybe I have the wrong night, the wrong venue…something!? It didn’t say ‘black tie’ on the ticket.”
When a waiter asked me if I wanted something to drink, I thought, “Well, this must be the right place.”
We started to get funny looks. I was growing increasingly uncomfortable. My friend wasn’t even as dressed up as I was. He was wearing faded jeans and a pullover sweatshirt.
On my way to the men’s room, I noticed a gift table. I thought, “I read that they were having a Chinese auction. Do they usually wrap the gifts in such fancy paper?”
I was inspecting the gifts. In retrospect, I’m glad the bride didn’t happen by at this moment to wonder why I was fondling her presents.”
It was taking me a while to clue in.
I turned to my friend and said, “I think we’re at a wedding.” Sadly, my friend was even more obtuse than I. I really ought to start traveling with people who are smarter and better dressed.
Some women were looking at me and smiling. Then she turned to her friend and began to talk. The two of them shared a laugh. I got a little angry because I was convinced that she was talking about me. I realized it wasn’t paranoia when I saw her point at me, that sly way, under her cocktail napkin as she lifted the drink to her mouth.
Finally, a woman with a walkie-talkie was cruising through the museum. I asked, “Excuse me. Is this the Pamela Stanley concert?”
She smiled graciously and told me we were, indeed, in the wrong part of the building. She escorted us through the building to a separate wing. We passed the wedding party on the way to the other wing. They were having their pictures taken in front of the Greek and Roman statues at the museum. I smiled at the bride, and she smiled back. She was probably thinking, “Did I invite that guy? Why didn’t he dress up for the occasion?”
I hope I didn’t end up in the wedding album. I’ll forever be a question mark over the happy couple’s head whenever they take a stroll down memory lane, “Who was the guy in jeans?!”
In the Virginia Beach/Norfolk area, the woman from the museum unlocked a door, opened it, and gestured, Carol Merrill-style. We entered the concert hall, and I was finally among denim-wearing Pamela Stanley fans. I pushed out a heavy sigh of relief.
My advice: “Always dress up when you’re going out. You never know when you’ll accidentally end up at a wedding.”