NASA

Two weeks ago one of the senior guys in my company, Dan, came by my office and asked me if I had plans for Thursday night the 22nd. I did not, so he asked me if I wanted to attend a dinner and lecture at one of the Smithsonian Museums that our company is involved in. I didn't have anything going on so I said sure. He gave me the invitation, told me to wear a suit, and that was it. In hindsight I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

When I got into the museum they were kicking out all the tourists, so I told a guard that I was there for a lecture and he told me I was a little early but that I should feel free to walk around. For the next fifteen minutes I had free reign in the museum, I was the only person there except for the guards and three or four people cleaning the carpets. A few minutes after six a woman in a suit with a clipboard walked over to me and said "Good evening. May I help you?". I thought she was going to kick me out, so I again explained that I was there for a lecture, and that one of the guards told me I could walk around until...she interrupted me "Yes, I know sir, come this way please." and walked me to an elevator. When the door opened she said to the guard "Mr. NN is here for the cocktail hour.", then shook my hand and walked off. I thought "OK, this is weird, I don't think I told her my name."

When the elevator door opened I was ushered into a room where about five people were having drinks. I went to the bar and ordered a beer. I mingled and talked to everyone. The conversation was light, we discussed some of the exhibits, DC, the weather. Business never came up, it was just the usual cocktail hour bullshit, people drinking and popping peanuts in their mouths. I felt a little out of place because I was roughly half as old as most of the people in the room but that was fine. Whatever, I downed my beer and walked over to some guy wearing a name tag. While we talked I looked at his name tag a little closer and it took my brain several seconds to catch up to my eyes. The tag said "Director, Smithsonian Institution". I read it again to make sure I was getting it strait, yup, "Director, Smithsonian Institution". I thought "Oh shit, think dummy, what have you said to this man", then replayed the last ten minutes of my life in my head to make sure I hadn't said anything overtly retarded. I concluded I was OK then excused myself.

Luckily, Dan walked in just then. He worked the room a little, grabbed a water, then came over to me. A few people congregated around us, but before I could pull Dan aside and ask him what the fuck was going on, the Director said "So, shall we eat?". I nearly dropped my drink, there were no more than ten people in the room. I thought this was going to be a huge dinner with hundreds of people. A waiter led us around a corner where there was ONE table set as elegantly as any five star restaurant I've ever seen. Internally I said "Holy shit, you gotta get out of here, there's no where to hide at that table".

Behind of all the china and silverware there was a name tag that said "Mr. NN [and my company name]" in perfect calligraphy. To my left was the fundraising director of the museum, and to my right the president of some trade organization. I was flanked. As I processed this the head honcho of the museum stood up, thanked everyone for coming, then went around the room and introduced everyone at the table. It was ri-god-damn-diculous. Everyone was director of this, president of that, this guy invented to wheel, that girl runs NASA, what's his name over there splits atoms for fun.

How did I get here? What sort of cerebral edema did Dan suffer to cause such a severe lapse in judgment that he thought it was a swell idea to bring me along to this? I generally don't get anxiety about social situations but I started to notice a throbbing sensation in my ears that reduced my hearing to near nothing and I was beginning to hear bubbling noises like I was underwater. Plus, my mouth had gone so dry I couldn't speak. My body was shutting down major systems that could cause irreparable harm to itself. It is a classic self-preservation response designed to ensure an organisms survival, like cutting off blood to extremeties in extreme cold to save the internal organs, and I agreed with the plan. "Good thinking, no talking".

Salad, bread and appetizers were served. I ate and responded to questions as succinctly as I could. I felt like a retard at a Mensa convention. I understood only every fifth word but I nodded approvingly at what appeared to be the appropriate times. One woman, who I think did in fact work for NASA, took an interest in me.

NASA: NASA was pretty hot. She was probably in her late 30's or maybe very early 40's. She was easily 5'11" or 6' tall, and her body was ripped. Her arms and shoulders were super-defined and only slightly smaller than mine. Her legs looked like they were chiseled out of granite and had on a short skirt to show them off. She had a big chest for such a tall, thin woman, my guess was that they were fake.

Side note: Based on the above description, it did occur to me that NASA may have been a man. Taken individually, none of the things above would cause me to think someone was a man dressed like a woman. Collectively, though, I was concerned. She didn't have an adam's apple, and she had very feminine facial features, but it did cross my mind that she has or had a dick. I gave it 3% chance that she was a he.

NASA had come with a tall, good looking guy of approximately her same age, and I presumed that was her boyfriend (she didn't have a ring on).

NASA kept asking me questions about what I did, where I lived, what I did for fun. We were sitting three seats away from each other, so I was answering her questions as quietly as possible so as not to draw attention to myself. NASA's boyfriend listened to us talk and at one point chimed with some non sequitur about a fanciful dream sequence he has about "floating through a river of puffed air". The "boyfriend" had a distinct lisp and was beyond a doubt the gayest person I have ever met. This wasn't helping my "she's a dude" nightmares. I increased my original 3% estimate to 5%.

A main course of fillet Mignon with a cream sauce was served. I am lactose intolerant and my stomach was already bothering me a little, so I scraped as much of the cream sauce off the steak as I could and ate up. I was starving. As soon as I finished the steak I realized it wasn't agreeing with me.

Note: For those of you who don't know, lactose intolerance is an inability to digest a certain sugar (lactose) found in most diary products. The symptoms range from mild bloating to uncontrollable explosive diarrhea.

Throughout dinner NASA was overly into everything that I was saying. She prodded with question, laughed at my jokes, and I began to notice Dan shooting me sideways looks. I didn't know what his connection was with this woman (from a business standpoint) but could tell from the looks he was giving me that he didn't want me flirting with her. From this point on I all but ignored NASA and bordered on being rude.

The dinner lasted about 40 minutes then we were led to an auditorium. As we walked in I put some space between NASA and I, there were about three or four people between us. We got to our row and NASA let the few people between us walk into the row first then walked in right in front of me so that we were seated next to each other. After we sat Dan leaned forward in his chair and shot me a not-so-discreet look that roughly translated said "Don't you dare fuck that woman". I nervously smiled back.

The lecture started and my intestines began growling. This was both a protest to the cream sauce and a warning that I had no more than one hour before my entire digestive tract evacuated itself in a very violent manner. Perspiration started to form on my forehead and I mentally withdrew from the talk. I was trying to find my happy place (green fields, a warm day at the beach, Immodium AD, etc). While this was going on NASA started scratching her thigh, and in doing so, she kept creeping her skirt higher and higher up her leg. I thought "Sweat Jesus, why do you test me?"

Had this not been a work function, and had I been 100% certain the woman involved was a woman, I would not have thought twice about saying something really dirty to the chick, likely along the lines of "I bet your pussy is completely shaved." I was picking up her signals loud and clear, but given the situation it was out of the question.

The lecture ended, I thanked Dan, then left at the fastest pace that could still be considered a walk. I waited for the elevator, took a couple of turns, then found the parking garage. It took me ten precious minutes to spot my car, which was on the far end of the lot. I did an about face and half-jogged towards it. It was about then that a BMW convertible pulled up next to me. The tinted window rolled down and it was NASA. She said "It was really nice to meet you...uh, why are you running?" I ignored the second part of the question and said, slightly out of breath "Yeah, me too. Have a great night...see you around". NASA paused, looked at me a little funny, then rolled up her window and drove off.

Post Script: My drive home was not very far, but I ran several red lights and rolled every stop sign along the way. I made it to my house in time, but barely. Dan was not in the office Friday and I haven't seen him yet today, so I haven't talked to him since that night.