The Life of the Party

Last night I was invited to a dinner by the head of the English department, Hassan. The dinner was for the third year English students here at the university, and included all of their instructors, one of which I am not. At all. I recognized a few faces from around campus (everywhere I walk, someone is always whispering, "How are you," because they're unsure of their English. I have to search them out. It turns out many of them are third year English students). I sat by the only other American, Mark, who is also tall and blonde and (not also) about thirty.

When a group's conversation is primarily in Turkish (very common here in Turkey), I tend to tune out. I think about my own things - stories or ideas or articles I need to look up on Wikipedia when I get home. Sometimes I find I get miffed when the conversation comes back to English, but it turns out not to be interesting. So last night I was talking to myself, and sometimes Mark, but not really paying attention to the crowd.

One of the professors, Meltem, is also an accomplished singer. After the meal was over, he was asked to sing, and he went on for forty five minutes. He was very good, but again, it was all in Turkish, as these things tend to be, so I clocked out.

At one of the points where I was in my own thoughts, I opened my eyes to check on the room and found everyone staring at me. I was startled, and no one was speaking. Hassan could tell I didn't know what was going on, so he repeated: "I said, Cass, why don't you sing for us?"

I panicked and looked at Mark. He shrugged. Hassan said, "Why don't both Cass and Mark sing for us?" At the dinner there were fifty students sitting in a weird triangle shape (I have no idea what kind of cut-rate waiter school the guy who arranged the tables went to), and they all started clapping. Very loudly. For a solid minute.

I panicked. I had nothing, and neither did Mark. Eventually we sang the first verse of "Mary Had a Little Lamb." Twice. Then I crawled under the table and vomited on a third year's shoes.

After the dinner was over, about half the students (the ones on my side of the triangle) approached me with their camera phones and asked for a picture. I posted up with Mark in front of a window and there was literally a line of people stepping in between us and handing their camera phones to some unlucky shmuck who probably just wanted some chai and a nap. That's what I wanted. That and a time machine.

Hassan offered to drive me home, and while we were in his car I apologized for the "Little Lamb" incident. I told him I froze up. He said not to worry. At the next big dinner the English department had, he said, I would be ready to sing.