For their joint birthday party, Robert and Steven rented the the top floor of a small and intimate bar in Nob Hill. The staircase in back is marked with a hand printed sign: "Reserved, Private Party." I'm carrying a big plastic container of red vines and this seems to attract attention. Whispers drift as I walk by. "Red vines! I want one, where are they going with that? Are you allowed to bring your own food in here?" As we make our way past the sign and up to the balcony, I get that thrill, the buzz when I'm allowed to go where other people aren't. It doesn't take much to feel exclusive.
From our vantage point high above the crowd, we can take in the whole expanse of the bar. We feel like kings (and voyeurs). Nobody looks up and we are soon fearlessly peering down. We wonder if the girl with the big framed glasses is cute or not. We wait for her to turn around. We watch as our friends enter the bar in small clumps. They worm their way through the mass at the door, search left to right, and eventually make their way toward the stairs. Not wanting to reveal our position, we only wave hello if they happen to look up and see us staring. Then we make funny faces and point excitedly.
Since we were the first to arrive, we wonder who else will show up. Will the birthday party be well attended, will the music suffice, will our friends have a good time. There is a lot of anticipation and guessing. Being unsocial, we stick together until the balcony is too full to remain islands. Then the party begins.
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