Party Pooper

Me with little Patrick, Piotrek and Paulina.

When I was young, I never liked when my mom had company. When the guests arrived, I would reluctantly greet them. My mom, who had been preparing for days, would be frantically running, having made an insane amount of food, trying to pull it all together. Rather than being any help in the kitchen, I always got in the way. I would mingle with the guests, but they all spoke Polish and I was never sure what they were saying. This bored me. And so when I would have a moment, I would slink back into my bedroom, shut the door, a sense of relief would wash over me. In adulthood, I am not as anti-social, but large gatherings of people are not my favorite thing.

This weekend, I visited Piotrek, who is my stepfather's nephew, his wife, Paulina, and one-month old son Patrick. I had met Piotrek about five years ago when he visited us in the United States. Knowing that I was in Krakow and just an hour away from their home, Piotrek invited me to their house-warming party to celebrate the new renovations to their home. At this party, no one would speak English and Piotrek would be the only person I knew.

I wasn't nervous about that. I was nervous about the vodka.

There are two things I truly hate (a hundred times more than parties). One is roller coasters, the second is shots of alcohol. The problem is that these are things many people consider fun, and some people have a hard time comprehending why I don't enjoy them as much as they do. And so, as a way to appease these people, and as a way to show that I am a good sport, I will sometimes partake in these activities even though to me, they are torturous. Knowing that Piotrek is a fun-pig of the Polish drinking sort, I knew that I would have to do a shot of vodka. I was also aware that on a Polish cultural level, I might offend him if I didn't. And so I pepped myself for this on the bus. I was going to do a shot. I was going to have fun. Given that my birthday was a bit tame, I was even a little excited for some drunken rowdiness.

Piotrek and his friend picked me up at the bus station, and when we arrived at his house, his wife and a crew of family and friends were already there in the kitchen in party preparation mode. It was a weird vibe. I don't think anyone really knew who I was, but no one seemed interested enough to find out. Some people talked to me here and there, but mostly everyone was bustling about, preparing the night's meal, setting up the tables and chairs, cleaning up. Though no one asked me, I tried to help out but mostly I just stood there and watched everyone. I felt hopeless, invisible, and at that moment, I wished I was 10 years old and could slink to my room and close the door.

At 4:30, Piotrek pulled me aside and asked me if I wanted to do a shot with his friends. Okay, here it was. But instead of pouring four shots, he poured one into a glass and said something like, "This one is for your health," and then downed it. He then poured me half a shot (at my request) and gave it to me.

"Wait, you are not all going to do it with me?" I asked. Apparently, this is not how it was done. I now had to toast to the next person standing next to me, take the shot, refill the glass and pass it on.

I didn't like this pressure, but oh, well. I did the shot. It burned my throat, but at least I swallowed it, and I was done. Relief!

Five minutes later, Piotrek asked if I wanted another. No, maybe later.

Five minutes after that, Do you want another? No, thank you.

The three boys kept passing the bottle around and doing shots one after another. Not that I even wanted to, but if I had kept up at their pace, I wouldn't have even made it to the party.

The guests began to arrive. I noticed that when they introduced themselves to me, they would shake my hand limply and not look me in the eye. In fact, it seemed like they were barely listening to my name. They did it to everyone, not only me, but I found it so strange.

Suddenly I felt like I was in one of my mom's parties. Half of the guests were in the kitchen, busy doing last minute preparations on the food. The other half of the guests were hanging out the baby room, many of them having brought kids of their own. Everyone was my age, some even younger than me, but they looked and acted so much older, all speaking in my mother's tongue.

Eventually, everyone seated themselves around the table in the living room to enjoy a feast of food. The vodka game continued--the bottle and shot glass were passed around the table non-stop, people taking shots each time it came to them. Given that there were about 20 people in the room, it went around quickly.

No one really talked to me. Even if I plopped down next to someone and said "Czesc," they would say hi back and continue talking to someone else or not talk at all. No one asked me who I was or what I was doing there. I tried to listen in on conversations, but found them difficult to follow. Often times the entire table would roar with laughter and there would be me, sitting there with a blank look on my face.

In order to keep myself occupied, I ate. I had some cold fish that was dipped in some kind of pickle juice, some polish ham, a plateful of prazone I helped prepare earlier, about five pieces of apple cake. I even made myself a mixed vodka drink.

The only time someone would speak to me was to offer me the vodka bottle and shot glass, asking if they could drink to me. I would decline, but it was always a fight to say no. Some people let go after a few no thank you's, but then some of them would drink to me anyway and I would have a shot sitting right in front of me. And so I took another half shot. Gulp. My stomach was starting to hurt. There was too much food in my belly. I was downing these horrible drinks and wasn't getting drunk at all. This was not fun.

Finally, I discovered that one of the guests spoke English. I told him that I didn't want to offend anyone by not drinking, but I just didn't like straight vodka. He said that as long as I tried it once, it shows some kind of respect, and I should be okay. But then he tried to persuade me to do another shot and wouldn't take no for an answer. Did he hear anything I just said?

"My stomach hurts," I told him.

"I have a cure for that," he replied.

I couldn't escape it. If I managed to dodge the bottle coming toward me in the living room, there was another circle in the kitchen. And since no one was speaking to me, I had nothing else to be busy with. I went to the bathroom constantly just to have a moment's peace. There would remind myself, it's just a party. It's just alcohol. This is supposed to be fun. Relax.

I went into kitchen, and finally had some nice conversation with some people. The bottle of vodka was coming toward me. Okay, deep breath. I took two half shots in less than ten minutes. Afterwards, I was still sober, miserable, in pain. I went back to the English speaker and told him that I did a few shots.

"Oh, good, so now you can do some more!" He started yelling across the room for the bottle and I was so frustrated that I walked out of the room.

I had spent the whole night extending myself and trying to be courteous with this vodka thing because I didn't want to offend anyone, but now, they were starting to offend me. This was a cultural difference. In America, when you say no, it means no. In Poland, when alcohol is involved, no means nothing. Logically, I knew that it was all in good fun, but I started to feel so completely alienated. I had enough. I tried, I participated, now leave me alone. STOP HAZING ME!

Piotrek, who was obviously having the time of his life (I never saw him decline a shot) came up to check up on me. He said he was so happy that I came, and I could tell that he really wanted me to have fun, so I told him that yes, I was having fun. He said he had some wine for me. I was so relieved. Until I drank it. It was really sweet and after one sip, my stomach lurched. I was afraid I would be in the bathroom all night after drinking this. I drank it slowly, but at least I could raise my glass when the bottle came to me.

Suddenly, one of Piotrek's friends turned to me, saw my wine glass and said, "You are not a true Polish person. You need a real drink."

Suddenly the room got really quiet and everyone turned and looked at us.

"I am American." I said in Polish.

"No, you are Polish. You need to drink vodka!"

"No, please. I don't want to. Please." Everyone was staring.

Then this other guy wanted us to link our arms and do a shot at the same time. I said no, please no.

"You have to do it," the first guy said to me, "Or you will really disappoint him." The whole room started buzzing, and I felt my insides completely turn. At this point, the world was against me.

I had no choice. We linked arms, and I just took a sip of the shot. I couldn't do the whole thing.

There was an awkward silence afterward. I was pissed off. All the torture I had put myself through all day meant nothing. I had spent the whole day trying to make others "happy" and here I was, the fool. I told Piotrek that I was tired and was going to bed. I didn't care that it was only one o' clock. I didn't care if he and his friends thought I was a loser or boring. I went upstairs, shut the door, and for the first time all day, felt like myself again.

During the party, I wished I was more like my sister, who loves a drink herself, or more like my brother, who can speak Polish fluently or more like my fun-pig friends, who would probably thrive in this situation. As I slipped under the covers, the sounds of the party below, I realized that this is who I am. I am not always fun. And that is not going to change whether I am in Poland or the United States. I will try to be accommodating, but I cannot change myself. And if you don't like it, then fuck off.

The aftermath:
The next day, I learned the party ended at 6 in the morning. I woke up at 11:30, and within a half an hour of waking up, I was offered a shot. I declined. Shortly afterwards, I left.

I think Piotrek is a great guy. He has a lovely wife and son. But I never want to go to one of his parties again.

The party scene.



Empty vodka bottles.