Representing the newspaper at the “annual dinner” of a score of different organizations is part of my job – and not always one I look forward to. This week, as it happens, there were two back-to-back at the Canasawacta Country Club. Any week night I have to get out of my jammies and forego whatever I DVRed the night before is never one that thrills me in anticipation, but off I went to two separate functions – the Leadership Chenango Alumni dinner and the Hospice of Chenango County’s annual dinner.

Oh, how I loathe schmoozing. As a man typically hard-pressed to string more than ten words together (verbally, anyway), the constant flow of “Hey, how are you? Good to see you!”s wears on me after a while. That said, I do enjoy coming down from the Ivory Tower once in a while to mingle with the common folk. Keeps me grounded.

So off I went to two disparate “society” functions, content in the knowledge that after this many years, anything I’d encounter on the chicken dinner circuit was definitely old hat.

I’d wish my occupation hadn’t turned me so jaded if it weren’t for the fact that every once in while – and in this case two nights in a row – my “been there, done that, spare me from doing it again” assumptions are decidedly turned on their ear.