A Surreal Face

I just got back from the chamber holiday party. The party was held at a member's home; clearly a wealthy member as the house was enormous with elaborate decoration. It was impressive. Or possibly oppressive. If a house could be threatening, this was a good example. Beautiful in a way, but who would have the time to keep it up? My god, it's mind boggling.

I found the liquor shortly and poured myself some champagne and pushed through the masses of ties and lapels. Business people are so stuffy. There were plenty of great foods available, but I stayed strictly with my diet of brie and truffles. Nine beautiful 17 year old girls with perfect skin and matching blue dresses sang a cappella Christmas carols. More or less it was the usual business party. People trading business cards and stuffing their faces. I wanted desperately to find the smokers, who were probably having a riot on one of the back porches. I sometimes miss that tight knit community were everyone has a dirty little social habit in common.

Then I saw a surreal, familiar face. He wasn't who I thought he was, he couldn't be - the guy I know is in Florida or Grand Rapids or Kalamazoo, never in the Detroit suburbs. The guy I know wouldn't be at a chamber party for christ's sake, he's a writer. I circled the fella in question out of curiosity. He was the right height, black hair, glasses. He had the same stance, gestures, style of being. Everything was checking out. I passed by to say hello and noticed that his name tag said "Journalist". It was a bizarre moment.

I am annoyed to mention that I didn't introduce myself. Annoyed with myself. Annoyed because he was probably an interesting person, and I didn't even try to speak with him. What would I say?

"Hi there. You wouldn't believe it, but I once knew someone who looked just like you. Seriously. (Long uncomfortable pause) So...you're a journalist - that's like, so cool. I have a weakness for writers."