The quirk factor: A party list

In this installment, we meet some characters and hope not to recognize ourselves.

Someone once suggested we do a cost-benefit analysis of the fiesta, just to see how fucked-up our priorities really are. Such a spoilsport, that guy. Like, where’s the fun in that? Sure it’s a disgrace how some people squander money on parties and drunken revelries when it could have been better spent on matters more worthwhile, but isn’t life hard enough without someone raising a cavil on that rare occasion when you decide to live a little and say, To heck with the kids’ tuition and the utility bills and the leaking roof — it’s fiesta time and I wanna have some fun!

There, I’ve said it. To think some folks had the impression I didn’t love me my fiestas, just because I said they bring out the sinyal in people. As if fiestas don’t thrive on some people’s peculiarity to chuck logical, long-term thinking in favor of an instant high they otherwise can’t afford. It’s liberating in a perverse kind of way, I imagine.

And that’s all I’ll say on the matter. It’s rude to badmouth people whose food you have been graciously invited to partake of (or if lacking the invitation, even ruder, because their business is all the more none of yours). Everything else, however, is fair game. After all, it’s sinyal that contributes to half the fun at these gatherings.

If you ask me, we only really bring three things to a party: appetite, attitude, and the amateur anthropologist in all of us. What’s there to say about appetite, except it’s that thing you have going with your digestive tract, adipose tissue, and brain? You’re hungry, you eat; you’re not, you don’t. What, you don’t like the food? That’s attitude. Or maybe you’re the type who piles food on his plate that can feed a small army, in which case the anthropologist is that guy at the adjoining table making a mental note not to invite you to his own party. I love playing anthropologist…

And on to the titular list. Think of it as Party People 101. Bear in mind that these are not exclusive character types, so that the Fat Cat can also be a Squirrel, or the Rat a Maximalist. Confused? Don’t worry; it’ll make sense once you go over the list. Here we go.

• #1 The Rat is a resourceful creature, but a sneak all the same. The fact that he’s not on the guest list doesn’t deter him from getting to the edibles, and with any luck he won’t gnaw on the furniture as well. Mode of attack: eat and run.
• #2 The Remora at least has the excuse (rather inelegant, but still) of having been “invited by the invited.” I am one on occasion and find it a lonely occupation; I just sit there while everybody talks to everyone else about everything except the things I know. But that’s just me. Anyway, I learned a few things about the remora today, most notably that it was thought to presage the death of the Roman emperor Caligula. Speaking of which, I wouldn’t have minded going to one of his parties…
• #3 The Ant gets closest (so far) to being welcome and familiar — if you overlook the fact that he practically invited himself. Usually a member of the host’s extended family or a friend/acquaintance who somehow got left out in the invitation process (you really have to wonder why), he has no qualms about announcing his presence and intention. Did I say “loud?” In any case, you have to admire his chutzpah.
• #4 The Professional has all his credentials in order, but he’s that curious breed of guest who works the party scene with the seriousness befitting a personal vocation, which is to say that there’s no party he has not been to or will not be in. Makes you wonder about the extent of his connections. Or the state of his coronary arteries. And yet… and yet… you’ve never heard him host a party. Hmmm…
• #5 The Fat Cat is the über-guest, usually the incumbent mayor, governor, or congressperson. He gets prime seating and the fawning attention of his entourage of Remoras. But with exalted status comes great responsibility, since some hosts have been known to refuse to start the meal without him. Needless to say, a no-show breaks the party, not to mention the host’s heart. He’s the Fat Cat, that’s why. Hear him purr.
• #6 The Specialist poses a bit of challenge for having dietary restrictions. The host is supposed to know this, so the onus falls on him to make the necessary menu adjustments: veggies for the veg(etari)ans, seafood for the Lipitor set. I have an aunt who only attends parties where goat is served. I’m a bit of a specialist myself; you can look up my name in the Lechon Lovers Registry.
• #7 The Maximalist abhors a void, and it shows on his plate — or whatever vessel it is that’s buried under that towering pile of food. Draws contemptuous looks from others. Not from me, though; I’m in awe — like, how does he get those things to balance?
• #8 The Scavenger is a friend of the environment. He goes through the party detritus, looking for stuff that can be re-used, recycled, or resold — and sometimes finds a few pieces of cutlery carelessly thrown in with the garbage. Neat, huh? The Scavenger we are most familiar with asks for food scraps to give to his pet(s). And what if you know for a fact he doesn't have any? Well, Wikipedia says a doggie bag is just a euphemistic pretense, anyway. I resent that.
• #9 The CD Collector has a thing for the plastic bag (the CD, as in “cellophane dako”), or, to be blunt, the food that comes with it. He is the object of furtive ridicule, his little “hobby” usually taken out of context, especially in the retelling. The context being that the collection was made after the meal, with the host’s permission — but why let a niggling detail get in the way of a good laugh?
• #10 The Squirrel, however, takes the act of CD collecting beyond the pale of acceptable behavior, which puts him in a category unto himself. I expect a CD Collector to insist on having the distinction made and I can’t blame him. Remember context? Think during, without asking. That’s the Squirrel. I thought Squirrels were an urban legend until a trusted source told me about this party she was at: Two Rats (or Remoras — she couldn’t really tell) made repeated excursions to the buffet table, returned Maximalists, then, thinking no one was looking, dumped the contents of their plates into umbrellas. Damnedest thing she ever saw.