Hiding under the table.

I have a confession to make. Tonight, while working the door at a friend's event, I hid under the table. It started with just a duck--as if I was looking for a lost pen--when I spotted an old flatmate walking by (note, this living arrangement did not end well). But mid-duck, I realized I was stuck. If I popped back up and he was looking (that look that says: 'seriously, you're hiding from me? you can't be for real!), I'd be found out. But if I stayed just ducking, the hump of my back might be seen--I'd appear either paralyzed or just plain stupid. I had no choice. There was no turning back. I had to come out of duck position or go full in. I went. I sat on the ground beneath the table on a flattened cardboard box of wristbands for minutes until I was certain the coast was clear.

I'm not saying I'm proud. I'm just saying I, a full grown adult, hid under the table tonight.

Image - Matthew Feyld (and FYI-Matthew Feyld is an amazing artist I discovered while working with the Carmichael Gallery. Check him out.)