Social Retards

As soon as we walked into the house, I knew we were in for it.  Like a pair of bumbling social retards, we entered the sparsely populated house, making a beeline to socialize with the two folks with whom we are most comfortable – the friend who invited us, and his dog.  Butterfinger was decked out in his best Pi t-shirt, glasses, and ripped jeans, and I accentuated his look with a pair of dirty jeans, my glasses, and a tank top with cupcakes on it.  After exchanging pleasantries with Jelly Belly and his faithful pup, I needed a beer, stat.

You know that feeling where you think people are staring at you?  Well, I think this is the first time it has happened and actually been true.  In addition to the obvious staring, Butterfinger and I were being completely ignored.  I genuinely wondered for a good ten minutes or so whether not not we had completely morphed our language into something unrecognisable to other members of our species. I understand we may have inadvertently lost some of the conventions of typical conversation because most of our talks with other humans are now web-based, but I did not think we are on the level of social outcasts.

After a few failed attempts at communicating with our contemporaries, Butterfinger and I decided to just abandon that ship and continue to talk to one another.  So there we were, at a social gathering (some may have called it a party, but I do not think the numbers in attendance justify this term), sitting on kitchen chairs away from the other kids, talking to one another.  After awhile we were doing ok, trying to figure out the pauses at which to chime in with the other revellers and interject our ideas, and then the music started.

I had seen the guitars when we walked in the house, but no amount of guitar awareness would prepare me for the events that followed. As Butterfinger and I sat there, in our bubble of social awkwardness and bewilderment, someone decided to pick up a guitar.  At first the playing was just harmless strumming.  The strumming then lead to the taking of requests, which eventually escalated to one of the gentlemen starting to play a song by Live titled, “Lightning Crashes”.  Butterfinger and I choked back socially unacceptable laughter while we watched everyone in the room join in singing, tapping their feet, and beating imaginary drums to such classic lyrics as “her placenta falls to the floor” and “oh now feel it comin’ back again”.

Were we allowed to talk?  Were we supposed to start singing along to a song that died in the mid-90s?  What were we supposed to do?!  I have never been faced with something like this.  Out of nowhere these people started singing and playing their hearts out recording-style in a living room to a stinky alternative rock band from York, PA.

We had to get out of there.  Butterfinger drew up an alibi for us, and within seconds we were out the door on our way to the Magic Market (actual name) down the street.  We needed more beer, lots more beer, if we were going to stay and take part in this impromptu jam session.  The rest of the gathering went well, for which I would like to thank both Blue Moon and the arrival of some guests that were not only happy to, but excited to, debate with Butterfinger and I about 2012, The Illuminati, and mind control, a safe distance from the musical interlude.

So what is the proper social protocol?  Are you allowed to continue talking when people start playing music out of nowhere?  Or is it best to keep quiet?  Can you just sit there and not get into the music at all?  Is it normal for people to go from normal conversation about nothing to belting out poorly written rock tunes in a matter of seconds?  A little insight into this matter would not only be greatly appreciated, but seems to be imminently necessary as I have to assume this is not the first time an event like this has happened in our friend’s home.