Had I not been so stunned in the moment, I might have been embarrassed earlier this week when my former boss left me hanging, all dressed up with nowhere to go.
The event was a gala for his research institute; a chance to promote the goings on and solicit donations. I dreaded going, mostly because when I accepted the invitation I had chickened out of providing the stipulation that I be introduced as a lab alum, not as current faculty. (Despite repeated conversations otherwise, there still seems to be the impression that I’m returning to research once I finish raising Laurel.)
But softy that I am, I went. I rearranged my schedule and made childcare arrangements for Laurel. I killed time around Harvard Square after I found parking, distracting myself with some editing work. And then when I arrived at the gala venue, the lights were out and the doors locked. I walked around back to the security desk only to find out that the event was cancelled. The poor florist also hadn’t been called. The guard looked horrified by the idea of dealing with more befuddled guests. It was yet another example of the typical chaotic, surreal behavior that helped make it easier to quit my research job and I couldn’t believe I walked into the lair again.
And while the upshot was that I got to get all fabulous looking and still make it home in time to see Laurel before bedtime, these facts hardly negate the lack of notification for the party that never was. And why am I telling you this? To keep me honest. To remind me of why I’m here and not there. Thanks for reading.