Saturday, February 15, 2020

101 Things #62 - I call upon... er, who are you again?

Do you like disrupting social events to which you were not invited? Are you a confident, loud-mouthed and fairly strong individual? Then the ludicrous suggestion found on the website Lifelisted is one you may wish to add to your bucket list of things you wish to achieve. And while you are doing it, I shall be quietly adding it to my own collection of non-achievements that future generations will honour with the name of 101 Things I Refuse To Do Before I Die

The recommendation under review is to

Give a toast at a stranger's wedding.


Let me first clarify those personal characteristics of a speech-crasher [I'm not even going to bother to look this one up, it's obviously made up: Ed] that I listed above.
  • Confident - Clearly someone who hesitantly advances to the front, asks the Master of Ceremonies if they can say something if it's not too much trouble, tries to claim the microphone and then stammers uncontrollably is not going to deliver a toast before being forcibly ejected. 
  • Loud-mouthed - When they cut off the amplifier then only the vocally powerful will be heard above the hubbub of guests asking each other "Who the hell is he?" 
  • Fairly strong - Some of the more alcohol-fuelled and enthusiastic of the groom's pals are likely to enjoy themselves seeing how many can pile on top of you - your toast will be muffled fast unless you can stand up for yourself

We have established that only a select few can really aspire to do the stranger-toast business but of course we must first examine why on earth anyone would want to do it in at all, before considering how one might bring it about and what this toast might amount to.

Why?


It is a stranger, or to be more precise, two strangers whose festivities are to be interrupted. The mystery toaster has no reason to like or dislike them, indeed nothing is known about them. They might belong to a strange religious cult whose faith requires them to remove the tongue of any who speak out of turn, so wearing running shoes could be a useful precaution. Or they could be from two long established families of expensive litigation lawyers and your financial ruin is guaranteed the moment you open your mouth.

Be that as it may, there is no reason for their carefully thought-out order of ceremonies to be disrupted other than the personal gratification of the interrupter. And, unlike the vast majority of bucket-list items that have been disparaged in these columns, the pleasure of said interrupter comes at the expense of the interrupted, who must look at one another with raised eyebrows and shrugged shoulders, at the very least.

What is the nature of the pleasure that the speech-crasher derives from her performance? Is it the thrill of holding an audience, playing with their emotions, inspiring and enthralling them with the drive and passion of the unscheduled toast? Seems pretty unlikely, given the circumstances, and the puzzled shouts of "Who let this idiot in?". It must be the selfish desire to annoy others and to be the centre of attention, the attributes in fact of your typical dictator. Is that a worthwhile trait to aspire to?

How?

Let us consider how one might end up on the dais facing a bemused audience of celebrants. Weddings may be advertised in the traditional way of the banns in church or announced in the small ads of a paper but it is less usual for the reception to be known to any but those attending. How does the speech-crasher select a target? Do they drive around looking for cars bedecked with ribbons or listen for the bells? Perhaps they stand around outside registry offices. Then comes the tricky part, finding out where the do is being held. Awkward enough to grab one of the wedding guests, hold them with your glittering eye and regale them with a terrible tale of the seas1 but child's play to saying "Excuse me, I'm just a totally innocent passer-by, where are you all off to now and can I please tag along?".

Perhaps the experienced crasher haunts the hotels and private function rooms that often host weddings. They wait till there is a crush of arrivals, infiltrate them (saying "Haven't you grown?" to a sulky 10 year old playing with her Wii will establish credentials) and hand over some gaudily-wrapped box (contents: half a brick) with a smile and "Please put this somewhere safe, it's rather valuable". The bride's family can assume they are with the groom and vice versa. There's bound to be a big sign outside saying something like "Ferdinand and Isabella warmly welcome family, friends and hangers-on. Drinks reception in the Torquemada suite" so bluffing is pretty easy.

Of course, there is no place for the crasher on the table plan. They must eat and drink as much as they can during the reception while smiling at everyone and milling about where the throng is thickest (People looking at someone on their own who is squinting awkwardly and furtively checking out the exits is not what is wanted). Then there is the difficult transition as the guests are called in to dine and somehow the crasher must evade the queue and find a quiet place to lurk, where no waiter will look them over suspiciously, and where Great-Aunt Catherine will not peer at them through pearl-handled lorgnettes before announcing to her companion "This must be Algernon's youngest, I always thought he would come to a bad end, Mavis come over here, you won't believe who's here, how he has the nerve to show his face after that incident with the bulldog I cannot imagine".

The first two courses have been served, the guests are drinking heavily and are happy but not yet fighting drunk, the bride has not yet slapped her chief bridesmaid nor has the groom's mother exchanged angry words with her brother's ex. The best man saunters to the fore, coughs unpleasantly into the microphone and the toasts begin. The time has come. As soon as there is a pause the crasher must take charge, beam at all on the top table and seize the microphone with a flourish
"Happy Couple, honoured guests, reverend sirs, my lords, ladies and gentlemen2 if I could just have your indulgence for a second there's a couple of things I must share with you about Ferdy...."

What?

Yes, what are those couple of things? What can actually be said once they are eagerly awaiting some juicy titbit to savour with the profiteroles? The crasher does not know these people. They certainly don't know or want to know Great-Aunt Catherine who is grimly regarding them as she beckons her rather muscular nephew over from his table where he has been showing his younger cousins where he keeps his stiletto. Here we are at the very climax of the whole speech-crashing business, the reason for donning a dinner suit, polishing one's shoes and obtaining half a brick from the builders' merchants down the road to put in the fake present. There may be only have a few seconds before the microphone is recovered, some rugby players practise a maul over the interloper's recumbent form and the doors to the wet street are opened prior to him being heaved out to fall heavily onto it.

"Um, ladies and gentlemen I give you the bride and groom" and with those squeaky words the crasher can make a bolt for it, scattering the waiters and several portions of fresh fruit salad, dodging the beefy grasp of the nephew and the champagne bottle slung at them by a remarkably accurate great-aunt recalling her days of throwing the javelin for her county.  He squeezes through the doors, He races down the street. It is over. He can tick off an utterly pointless bucket-list objective. What a shame he had to leave his coat behind, a coat that, he suddenly remembers, has got his train season ticket, iphone and house keys in the inside pocket. And it's raining.

-&-&-&-

Is the game worth the candle? Will you glory in the anguished postings on Facebook the next day as various of the guests accuse others of having smuggled you in and Great-Aunt Catherine declares a jihad against Cousin Victor and all of the Warwickshire branch? Or, given that your identity is unavoidably compromised by the possessions inadvertently left behind, must you forge a new one and sail for South America as a deck-hand at once?

I am happy to renounce any intent to gatecrash the matrimonial bliss of others and strongly suggest that you do, too. If the lure of the wedding is still strong, then why not put on some old clothes, cover yourself in soot, get a big black brush from those builders' merchants and do your Dick van Dyke impersonation instead. Everyone will be happy, you get to kiss the bride and the bridesmaids (best avoid Great-Aunt Catherine) and may even be tipped handsomely for bringing luck to the happy couple.3 

Footnote
1. Thank you ST Coleridge for helping me raise the literary level
2. This is the traditional preface to a toast in the UK but of course these days it might well begin "Yo, dudes, how's it hanging?"
3. You'll probably be tipped even more for steering well clear of the happy couple in their expensive clothes, but don't forget to throw in a few "Gor bless you sirs" at the right moment.

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