This summer, it'll be exactly 20 years since I left high school.
(Don't worry, this isn't one of those "God, I'm so old!" posts. Except... god, I'm so old.)
About time for a school reunion, you might think? Thankfully, as yet, there isn't one planned. (Or if there is, nobody's invited me. There probably is.)
It's also the 35th anniversary of the radio station I've worked at in one job or another for... ahem... 22 years now. They are having a party. I won't be going.
I never understood the appeal of reunions. I can count on one hand the number of schoolmates I'd ever want to see again, and the two main ones I still see anyway (though not as frequently as I ought to). The rest of 'em - particularly all the ones who were horrible, rude, inconsiderate and just plain mean towards me - well, I'd rather press my face slowly into an industrial sander than spend a precious evening in their company.
Likewise former colleagues. Don't get me wrong, in 22 years I've worked with some decent enough people. They've not all been wankers. But the ones I really wanted to stay in touch with... guess what, I stayed in touch with them. There's maybe a couple more I regret having lost touch with, but the rest can go swing. Besides, there's only one way that conversation can go...
"So, XXX, what are you doing with yourself now?"
"Oh, I'm in this really great job that pays me loads of money and I only have to work two days a week and the rest of time I spend getting stroked by oiled up nymphomaniacs, sipping Mai Tais on a beach with no flies. What about you, Rol?"
"I still work at the (pit of wretchedness and despair)."
"Oh." Tumbleweed. "What do you reckon's in this punch?"
Is this just me and my misanthropy... have you been to a reunion recently... just how much fun was it?
