Baby Shower- A Hilarious Mini Story Based On A True Event
Can a man join in the festivities at a baby shower, or is it a strictly female-only event? A side-splitting story that actually happened.
Story: S A Spencer
Photo by Tai’s
CapturesA chill runs down my spine as I arrive at the venue for my colleague’s
wife’s baby shower. I was never so much jumpy even when I came to appear at the
interview for the company I am employed now. I am flooded with a flashback of
the interview. I had stated I am a person who can cultivate amicable
relationships with others and can connect quickly. I believe this was one of my
strengths that landed me in this temporary to permanent job.
Temp to perm! That means I need to
prove my performance from day one. Thar day has arrived. One of the guys I
spoke to on Zoom for my interview is now hosting the baby shower.
When he circulated the invitation to
all the staff through the office WhatsApp group, I was the first one to RSVP.
I should have realised that the
invitation was open to everyone, and likely only female staff members accepted.
When I reach the venue, I can feel
the gift in my hand, heavy with anticipation and a lingering question. I have
never attended a single baby shower in my life. Vaguely recall that, like
bridal showers, baby showers are often just for women. Mostly or strictly? I
scratch my head, but my memory refuses to provide a single clue. And I don’t
even remember if I had read the invitation carefully.
That means I have already proved I’m
not a person with ‘attention to the detail’ as I had shown as my
strength in my resume.
Hopefully, I am in the right place,
rightfully. I continuously assure myself. Going back before showing my face
would be disgraceful to the manager who could be the person again to take
another interview before making me permanent.
I carefully tiptoe to the venue,
feeling the envelope with the gift voucher rustle in my pocket.
What if the program is exclusive to
women? I am about to endure the most shameful episode of my life. My stomach twists
in nuts, palms sweat, and heart begins to pound. Upon seeing three women with
gift packs entering the hall, my apprehension intensifies.
I wait for a few moments and inhale a
deep breath. But delivering the envelope with the five hundred dollars gift
card would never solve its goal if I go back.
A concept pops into my inventive
brain, maybe the outcome of a few seconds of profound inhalation. What about
pretending to deliver the gift on behalf of a guest who couldn’t make it at the
last moment? Emergencies happen. I also quickly think of a female name: Jenny.
I am still standing outside, with no
guts to peek in and find for myself.
If it were women exclusively here, I
would locate a female who could assume the role of an organizer or something of
the sort and give her the envelope with my name facing down. She would deposit
the same into a gift box or gift table. In time, my senior colleague will
discover my name and comprehend that I have presented him and his wife with a
valuable gift, a $500 voucher.
What a novel idea? I should have
given myself a pat on the back.
I push open the door and enter the
function hall.
A wave of relief washes over me when
I find there are a few men around. Confidence bloom inside me and I feel a
smile forming on my lips. Holding the envelope in one hand, I walk into the
crowd. Groups of men and women are standing in various places and talking. It
is the first half hour of the schedule and I think the host is still waiting
for most guests to arrive to begin the celebration.
“Would you like a drink?” a woman in
a uniform asks me.
My throat was already dry because of
the heated thoughts circulating in my brain for the last thirty minutes. “Yes,
a beer, please.”
“Wait, a moment.” She turns around
and walks away. The logo and name of a party organising business stares at me
from the backside of her top. But only for a moment as she immediately turns
back to me and asks me again, “Did you ask for a beer?”
“Yes.” Maybe she couldn’t hear
because of the noise of collective chatting in the hall.
“Let me see if there is one.” She turns
around again, and this time vanishes. My attention goes to the wine glasses
guests are holding. I don’t see anyone with beer. A sign heralding the baby
shower catches my eye, but the view is obscured by a cluster of women standing
precisely before it.
A vivid flashback of a bank from the
week before pops into my mind. I was standing in front of a counter to get my
documents verified for opening a new bank account. The female customer service
officer asked me, “What is your gender, sir?”
The question tested the limits of my
intelligence. “Sorry?”
“Sir, as per the latest guidelines,
we are supposed to ask the customer before marking him or her as male or
female. We are not allowed to use our visual judgement. You may identify
yourself as a female, male, or decide not to be identified by any gender.”
“I am a male.” My masculine ego sounds
prominently in my reply and punches my ears.
“Thank you, sir.”
Later on I realised all the while
she was addressing me as ‘sir’ even before asking my gender.
What if the men I see here in the
function are people who are identifying themselves as women?
I must wait for the formal
proclamation to recognise who my host is due to the fact that I saw him on the
Zoom screen a month ago, and my visual recollection is not strong.
I decide not to take a chance of a humiliation.
Depositing the gift envelope in the designated table would suffice my purpose. My
colleague would know I had come there with a valuable gift. I am sure like me
he would also never recognise my face. Only identify my name from the gift
card.
I smile at my intelligence. I am now
sure my job will become permanent.
I act speedily and the envelope
finds its way into the wish box.
“Your beer please.” The server lady
finally finds a beer for me.
“Thanks,” I extend my arm but
immediately retracts, “Sorry, forgot I…” what do I reason? “I forgot doctor’s
advice not to drink.”
I turn around and rush out before
she can react.
A profound breath escapes me as I
step out of the entrance. But the next second, a sign to the entrance of
another hall on the same floor catches my sight. ‘Welcome to the Baby Shower
of ….’
I have already deposited the gift
card in the wish box of another party that was not of my colleague.
Enough. I close my eyes and stand
there for a minute before rushing back home.
In a moment of reflection, I choose
to omit the phrase ‘attention to detail’ from my resume.
Acknowledgment-
Narrated to me by a reader, Joseph Henry, with a request to feature his
experience in a story blog.
You can
also send your funny or other life experiences to me, and I will make a story and
publish, acknowledging your contribution. Or, if you can write your own story,
I will publish the same with your name as a writer. Writing should be
between 1000-1500 words.
on Facebook and Twitter so that you know when a new story comes.
Do you like this story? Let your friends also read this.
Share through
A chill runs down my spine as I arrive at the venue for my colleague’s
wife’s baby shower. I was never so much jumpy even when I came to appear at the
interview for the company I am employed now. I am flooded with a flashback of
the interview. I had stated I am a person who can cultivate amicable
relationships with others and can connect quickly. I believe this was one of my
strengths that landed me in this temporary to permanent job.
Temp to perm! That means I need to
prove my performance from day one. Thar day has arrived. One of the guys I
spoke to on Zoom for my interview is now hosting the baby shower.
When he circulated the invitation to
all the staff through the office WhatsApp group, I was the first one to RSVP.
I should have realised that the
invitation was open to everyone, and likely only female staff members accepted.
When I reach the venue, I can feel
the gift in my hand, heavy with anticipation and a lingering question. I have
never attended a single baby shower in my life. Vaguely recall that, like
bridal showers, baby showers are often just for women. Mostly or strictly? I
scratch my head, but my memory refuses to provide a single clue. And I don’t
even remember if I had read the invitation carefully.
That means I have already proved I’m
not a person with ‘attention to the detail’ as I had shown as my
strength in my resume.
Hopefully, I am in the right place,
rightfully. I continuously assure myself. Going back before showing my face
would be disgraceful to the manager who could be the person again to take
another interview before making me permanent.
I carefully tiptoe to the venue,
feeling the envelope with the gift voucher rustle in my pocket.
What if the program is exclusive to
women? I am about to endure the most shameful episode of my life. My stomach twists
in nuts, palms sweat, and heart begins to pound. Upon seeing three women with
gift packs entering the hall, my apprehension intensifies.
I wait for a few moments and inhale a
deep breath. But delivering the envelope with the five hundred dollars gift
card would never solve its goal if I go back.
A concept pops into my inventive
brain, maybe the outcome of a few seconds of profound inhalation. What about
pretending to deliver the gift on behalf of a guest who couldn’t make it at the
last moment? Emergencies happen. I also quickly think of a female name: Jenny.
I am still standing outside, with no
guts to peek in and find for myself.
If it were women exclusively here, I
would locate a female who could assume the role of an organizer or something of
the sort and give her the envelope with my name facing down. She would deposit
the same into a gift box or gift table. In time, my senior colleague will
discover my name and comprehend that I have presented him and his wife with a
valuable gift, a $500 voucher.
What a novel idea? I should have
given myself a pat on the back.
I push open the door and enter the
function hall.
A wave of relief washes over me when
I find there are a few men around. Confidence bloom inside me and I feel a
smile forming on my lips. Holding the envelope in one hand, I walk into the
crowd. Groups of men and women are standing in various places and talking. It
is the first half hour of the schedule and I think the host is still waiting
for most guests to arrive to begin the celebration.
“Would you like a drink?” a woman in
a uniform asks me.
My throat was already dry because of
the heated thoughts circulating in my brain for the last thirty minutes. “Yes,
a beer, please.”
“Wait, a moment.” She turns around
and walks away. The logo and name of a party organising business stares at me
from the backside of her top. But only for a moment as she immediately turns
back to me and asks me again, “Did you ask for a beer?”
“Yes.” Maybe she couldn’t hear
because of the noise of collective chatting in the hall.
“Let me see if there is one.” She turns
around again, and this time vanishes. My attention goes to the wine glasses
guests are holding. I don’t see anyone with beer. A sign heralding the baby
shower catches my eye, but the view is obscured by a cluster of women standing
precisely before it.
A vivid flashback of a bank from the
week before pops into my mind. I was standing in front of a counter to get my
documents verified for opening a new bank account. The female customer service
officer asked me, “What is your gender, sir?”
The question tested the limits of my
intelligence. “Sorry?”
“Sir, as per the latest guidelines,
we are supposed to ask the customer before marking him or her as male or
female. We are not allowed to use our visual judgement. You may identify
yourself as a female, male, or decide not to be identified by any gender.”
“I am a male.” My masculine ego sounds
prominently in my reply and punches my ears.
“Thank you, sir.”
Later on I realised all the while
she was addressing me as ‘sir’ even before asking my gender.
What if the men I see here in the
function are people who are identifying themselves as women?
I must wait for the formal
proclamation to recognise who my host is due to the fact that I saw him on the
Zoom screen a month ago, and my visual recollection is not strong.
I decide not to take a chance of a humiliation.
Depositing the gift envelope in the designated table would suffice my purpose. My
colleague would know I had come there with a valuable gift. I am sure like me
he would also never recognise my face. Only identify my name from the gift
card.
I smile at my intelligence. I am now
sure my job will become permanent.
I act speedily and the envelope
finds its way into the wish box.
“Your beer please.” The server lady
finally finds a beer for me.
“Thanks,” I extend my arm but
immediately retracts, “Sorry, forgot I…” what do I reason? “I forgot doctor’s
advice not to drink.”
I turn around and rush out before
she can react.
A profound breath escapes me as I
step out of the entrance. But the next second, a sign to the entrance of
another hall on the same floor catches my sight. ‘Welcome to the Baby Shower
of ….’
I have already deposited the gift
card in the wish box of another party that was not of my colleague.
Enough. I close my eyes and stand
there for a minute before rushing back home.
In a moment of reflection, I choose
to omit the phrase ‘attention to detail’ from my resume.
Acknowledgment- Narrated to me by a reader, Joseph Henry, with a request to feature his experience in a story blog.
You can also send your funny or other life experiences to me, and I will make a story and publish, acknowledging your contribution. Or, if you can write your own story, I will publish the same with your name as a writer. Writing should be between 1000-1500 words.
on Facebook and Twitter so that you know when a new story comes.
Do you like this story? Let your friends also read this.
Share through
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