We were in Bucharest, Romania, when Eastern Europe was communist.
We had just turned eighteen, my high school boyfriend and I and with the wisdom typical of that age group, we eloped and got married!
Shortly after, still enveloped in our “daze of independence” we were hopping from party to party, especially on weekends.
One Saturday evening, we were invited to a party in an apartment complex where several of our friends lived. On the outside, the complex was grey, gloomy. The main entrances and windows looked desolate but there was a lot of life and happiness once the doors to the apartments’ opened…
We rang the bell to our friend’s apartment, where the party was about to start. It was a little early, so when another guest, a mutual friend of ours and the host’s, opened his door, we were relieved she had arrived at the party before us!
She smiled a little surprised. She probably didn’t know we were invited at this party. That was okay… I smiled back, reassuringly.The three of us sat on a sofa and chatted, as we waited for the Host who was probably finishing up in the kitchen.
I launched into telling a story to avoid the silence. My throat was dry. Where are the drinks? I wondered. Where was the Host? How rude, to have a guest open the door to his apartment and have guests entertain one another! He really shouldn’t have a party if he is such a poor Host!!!
The friend who opened the door for us fidgeted increasingly.
No wonder, I thought, she is nervous! Doesn’t know how to handle this embarrassing situation. To try and entertain us, when she, herself is a guest! She and the Host, barely knew each other. I fact, we barely knew him. The Host had some nerve to be unprepared and let guests entertain themselves…
I glanced at my watch. It was getting late. Where were the other guests?
My husband and I “exchanged meaningful looks.”
The conversation continued to dragged. Our friend barely answered my questions about the weather any more… She didn’t seem to care my forecast was rain!
After about half an hour, in desperation, I flattered her:
“How nice of you to open the door for us!”
“Oh you’re welcome, but now I have to leave.” she said and stood up.
“I don’t mean to be rude,” she continued,” but wasn’t expecting you… at my apartment. I was going out when you rang the bell. Going to “X” party, on the 3rd floor.”
… and you know what followed:)
Oh… well thank God we were all invited. Over the years this became a treasured memory of how foolish we were and yet survived!
Happily Ever After:
The three of us took the elevator to the third floor, rang the door bell and the right Host opened the right door to the right apartment. After all, there was a party and the door opened at last! There were drinks too!
Many thanks to Karen Salmansohn’s post “If it does not open, it’s not your door (xo notsalmon.com) which was posted on my Home Feed, on Facebook and triggered my memory and desire to share this true story from my youth.