My boss tricked me into going to a gala event with her last night. And then she had to cancel. So I went.

Alone.

I wanted to have to cancel, too.

But I’m a big girl now. Making big girl career moves. So I went.

Alone.

Put on make up. And heels. And everything.

And drove all the way down 81 to Virginia Tech. Successfully navigated the A-B-C exit. Which in and of itself gives me anxiety.

Parked in a field. And walked through the grass. In heels. Which offers even more anxiety to the lady who can barely manage to stay upright in running shoes.

Made it to the entrance without incident.

My Women in Technology ladies were handling the sign in table, and as I approached, they held yelled my name and held up my name tag in greeting. It was very reminiscent of arriving to a Mountain Junkies race. So, you’d think that would put me at ease.

But my social anxiety runs deep. Even my Mountain Junkies can’t assuage it.

After getting my name tag and drink tickets, I headed straight for the bar. Because liquid courage. (That’s not just for approaching hot chicks at the bar, right? Like, that can also be used to survive a social event? Because that’s how I use it. Regardless of a chick’s level of hotness.)

It took a minute to navigate the millions of human bodies standing between me and my Old Fashioned.

But finally made it there. Got my drink. And then. Just kind of. Stood there. In a very warm room. Filled with a very lot of people. Just. Being awkward. And sweaty.

This environment is not conducive to the peri-menopausal forty-something with curly hair. (I sure do not know how to style my hair up beyond a hastily pulled up ponytail or messy bun. It’s an unnecessary skill in my world.)

I was sweating. And frizzing. And standing completely alone in a room full of successful networkers

Just. Every kind of uncomfortable.

I did manage a few awkward interactions with folks I vaguely know through WoTech. Or work.

But it wasn’t long before I went to the bathroom to hide.

And that is where I got stuck. Just. Kind of wedged in between the door. And the toilet. And because there was a tall, thin, gorgeous woman in the restroom with me. I defaulted to self-deprecating humor.

She didn’t laugh.

She had clearly managed to slide effortlessly between the door and toilet when she went into her stall. She could not relate to my humor on any level.

I did eventually manage to shove the door across my body to close it. With me inside.

That struggle didn’t help the sweaty frizzy situation.

It really didn’t help going through it a second time to get back out of the stall.

So, I gave myself a solid ten minutes of just standing there. In the bathroom. Trying to make the sweating stop. And talking myself down from just finding a back way out to my car.

Then I went back out. To the people. Got a second Old Fashioned. And headed outside. Where I could at least maybe cool my core temperature, if nothing else.

Which is where I found my PMP instructor and fellow PMI board member. Who knows me. And recognized the anxiety on my face. And he immediately said, “Come stand here with us. We will be your safe space.”

I probably didn’t tear up in gratitude. But the introvert world absolutely needs more of those people.

And it’s possible I was feeling a little too safe in this safe space. Because at some point in the conversation, I believe I challenged all of them to a dance battle.

I can’t dance.

And then it quickly escalated into a challenge to a gang fight.

I also can’t fight.

Which is about the time they announced that it was time to go inside and sit down for the awards ceremony.

As I crammed myself into one of the tiny chairs. Smack in the middle of 5,000,000 people. My brain said, “Should we all really be this close to each other?”

I’m sure it’s fine. I probably don’t have Covid now.

It was a beautiful, inspiring event. I probably didn’t tear up again when one of my favorite WoTech women won the Regional Leadership Award for founding the SWVA chapter of Blacks in Technology. Listening to the massive cheers go up for this really amazing woman.

When we were released back into the relief of the cool night air, I saw a group trying to coordinate a photo. And because I have a need to constantly prove my value to the world, I practically ran over and offered to take the photo for them.

And…I mean… I didn’t fully lie down on the ground. In a dress. To take their photo. But I did ensure they had about 50 angles to work with when choosing their favorite.

And when I asked one of their group to take a photo of my co-workers and me in return. Damned if he didn’t emulate the exact same 50 angles.

Tech people are quick learners.

Here’s a creepily edited pic I made using Canva. To hide the identity of my co-workers. Because not everyone wants the world to know they know me.

And now I want to find photos of all my exes and do this to them…