Crash!

Last night I caught a glimpse of my ugly side. We were all at a friend's birthday party. Yes, some people persist in celebrating advancing age! It was all 30 or 40 something, well organised, plenty of music, dancing, conversation and what passes in these parts for Beautiful People. Everyone there had been invited and the guests had been meticulously chosen. The Brunette called up the night before panic stricken about the perilously low number of single men on the list. That half of them were gay (or potentially so) didn't help much either.

Come the night of the party. There I am dancing madly (or as madly as my creaking joints allow) when I notice that there are some people who look as though they do not belong there. This was not quite the hip-hop crowd, yet there were about a dozen kids with baseball caps and t shirts and pierced body parts queueing impatiently at the bar. The Brunette arrived panic stricken. "Crashers. We have to get rid of them. Help." Damn. I've had some weird jobs in my time, but being a bouncer doesn't rank among them. Our first approach was civilised. Three of us politely went up to the Crashers and inquired if they had been invited. If so, by whom ? No replies were forthcoming. They marched off with their drinks. Hmmmm. This was not working. Civility had lost the day- or the night actually. More desperate measures were called for. I pulled the plug on the music.

Silence. A friend stepped up onto a table and said "Will the crashers please leave the party." On that cue, commando style, five of us circled the intruders and marched them out single file. The leader of the gang, pleaded that he was the cousin of one of the guests. Tough. The music resumed. The kids left. I peeked out of the gate and saw another thirty lolling about outside. Jeez. And I thought I didn't have a life. I looked back and saw a Mock-Manhattan crasher on her cellphone: "Hey, yaar. This is a great party. You guys have to get in somehow." That's when I lost it.

"You fucking bitch. How dare you stand here uninvited, trying to sneak some more of your pals in. Which fucking slum do you live in? What's your name ? And what do your parents do? Do you have parents? If you don't get your fucking ass out of here in the next fucking two seconds, I'm going to fucking throw you over the fucking gate." To put this prose (?) into context you should know, that I'm the kind of guy who uses the "F" word once a month-if that. Clearly, I'd blown my annual quota in a few sentences.This was blind rage. Ms Mock Manhattan charged out as fast as her stilletoes would let her.

Later that night, I wondered what it is that makes people barge into situations where they are not required. Heck, I call my closest friends to make sure they're free before I land up. 21st century recreational time is a precious commodity and I'd like to decide how I spend it. I would never dream of going where I have not been invited. If I'm taking an uninvited friend over, I call and clear it with my hosts. Yet, there is a generation of imbecilic freeloaders out there, who assume they have a God given right to enter any place on the basis of a tenuous relationship with one of the guests. I can understand the poor crashing weddings to eat free food. But this is the Honda Civic/FCUK/Diesel/D&G crowd. Even scarier, they have crash techniques worked out. The idea is to enter two at a time so that the hosts do not detect a sudden influx of unwanted guests. Yuk.

On a brighter note, I'm off to London at the crack of dawn tomorrow. Hopefully, greater civility lies in store for me there. I'm not lugging my notebook there, so (for my four faithful readers) this blog may become a little erratic. Fear not. I shall return.