The conference in-crowd

I was at a conference this weekend in a mid-western city, at a hotel out in the middle of a large parking lot, eating industrial-strength brownies that they set out as snacks and watching carefully as my skin dried out in the air-conditioned, windowless hotel rooms, one pore at a time. The only thing I forgot was my toothbrush, and I smeared the hotel's complimentary toothpaste on my finger and did the best I could.

It was a small conference, just over 300 people, and I was fortunate enough to know about 10 of those people and to meet, through my acquaintances, and get to know (enough for a 48-hour conference, that is) about 10 more, so in every session, at every cocktail hour and snack break, I was good to go with a ready-made and decent-sized posse. And a posse we were. All from the same graduate school, we chatted about the professors, the people we knew mutually, the political decisions of the university, the charming college town where we all spent at least two years of our lives. We smiled sweetly at the other people around us, and then proceeded to let them know, with a quick "Oh, how is Professor Humbledoo?" or "You know what I miss? That sweet little Indian restaurant..." that listen they were welcome to do, but participate in the conversation they could not. We were the in-crowd of the conference. The cool ones who met in someone's room after a session for a round of beers, who actually ventured out into the city for a night at a real restaurant, who skipped out on sessions to meet at the hotel bar and snickered as we texted each other during breaks. It felt like getting a little bit of school back.

I had to remember, after the conference, a large meeting I went to recently in the city. I was alone, and I knew no one. There was a breakfast spread with built-in time for chatting, and I hovered around the buffet table (being the free food vulture that I am) and took my time looking over the muffins, anxiously shifting my eyes to try and figure out who in the hell I would go stand next to after I finished loading my plate. When I finally drummed up the courage to step back from the table, I actually made eye-contact with a woman, smiled, and proceeded to do a full 360-degree turn around the room before coming to join her in her corner. Looking for someone better? Maybe. Just being my plain, socially-awkward self? Definitely. It's that initial meeting, plate-in-hand, that's so painful. That smile and "Hi, mind if I join you? My name's..." that feels so forced. I'm sure I'll find myself in that situation again in no time. When that happens, I'll remember my posse and pine for the days when I was in the in-crowd. It was a nice feeling.